About Rob.

 Sunday 28th September 2025.

After I recently mentioned taking a pie to Rob, I was asked for more details about him, so I thought I would do so today.

I often mention Rob in relation to the stables, and that is because he lives in the house at the stables. The stables were once part of a farm in their own right, farmed by Rob’s family. When his mum and dad decided they wanted to retire, and with Rob having no interest in farming, they gave it up. They sold the land and the farmyard but kept the house for themselves and for Rob to live in. As my parents’ land bordered theirs, it made sense for them to strike up a deal, and that is how we ended up with what we now call the stables.

I’m not sure of the exact timescale, but eventually Mum took over the farmyard for her horse business. She offered livery for other people’s horses and also used her own horses for treks around the farm and riding lessons.

As I said, Rob never had much interest in farming. Instead, he preferred working for the local country estate. He went there straight from school and never worked anywhere else, staying until his retirement just a couple of years ago. Now he spends his time in his garden, which seems to occupy him non-stop, only ever driven indoors by the dark.

I first met Rob when I went to help at the stables on Saturdays. Mum insisted I go to meet people my own age. The first person I ended up making friends with, though, was Rob! I did eventually make some friends my own age, but Rob remained my anchor.

I’m drawn to him because he is steady and reliable—always there, always ready to help. No matter what I bring to him, I never feel like I’m a bother. Quite the opposite, in fact. My biggest grumble or problem, or a freshly baked pie—it’s all greeted the same. With all those young girls at the stables, things could at times be a little toxic, full of squabbling over who was riding which horse. When it all got too much, I’d take my lunch to Rob’s. Even if we didn’t talk much, I always came away calmer, steadier, more able to face the afternoon.

That’s Rob, really. Content in his own world, yet with a calmness that rubs off on you. His advice is always forthcoming, given freely, and without strings attached. He makes you feel it’s meant just for you, no hidden motives—just quiet wisdom from a man at peace with his place in life.

And so I always leave Rob’s with a little of that peace tucked under my arm, like the last warmth of the sun carried home in your coat. By the time I’m back in the kitchen with Mum or out in the yard with Dad, I feel steadier—ready again to take on the day, and glad to have someone so quietly dependable just over the way.

A golden little thread.

 Saturday 27th September 2025

“What are your plans for today?” Mum asked as I came into the kitchen this morning, still half-blurred with sleep. She was already busy sorting out breakfast. I say sorting out for everyone else, because in truth it’s only “we” in the loosest sense—I always stick with porridge, while the others tuck into what’s grandly called a full English.

The question caught me off guard. I honestly think it’s the first time since being here that the decision of how to spend my day has been placed directly into my own hands. Normally, Mum and Dad have a knack for seeing that my hours are spoken for before I’ve even realised it. It’s not something I’ve ever minded; I’ve always been content to follow along. But standing there this morning with my mouth half open and no quick answer at the ready, I suddenly found myself aware of the choice—and a little lost because of it.

Mum, of course, didn’t leave me stranded for long. A couple of seconds of silence was more than enough for her to step in with ideas, for which I was secretly grateful.

“If you aren’t going to the stables, how about making yourself useful by stewing some pears and those windfall apples from the garden for freezing?”

I wasn’t sure what stewing fruit involved, but it sounded a lot easier than trying to puzzle out my own plans.

“Yes, sure,” I said, probably a bit too relieved.

“You mean, yes Mum, that’s a good idea. I’m sure they’ll come in very useful for pies and suchlike next year.” She has this way of gently pulling me up whenever my words veer into what she calls “lazy speak.”

So I grinned and gave her my best tongue-in-cheek reply:

“What a wonderful idea, Mum. You do come up with the best suggestions. I’d be delighted to do that little job for you.”

“Less of your cheek, young madam,” she said with a smile that gave her away.

And just like that, the whole exchange turned into a bit of fun, the kind that sets a cheerful tone for the day ahead.

By the time I’d finished, there were six neat bags of stewed fruit for the freezer—two of apples, two of pears, and two mixed. And as a bonus, enough left over for a pair of pies: one for our lunch tomorrow, and one I carried down to Rob at the stables in the afternoon.

Two pans of fruit ready for cooking, I refill both pans twice more.

It was a simple sort of day, the kind where small jobs fill the hours without fuss or hurry. And as the light began to dip, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet contentment: One pie delivered and one on the counter waiting to be eaten, Mum pleased with the freezer now stocked for winter, and me glad to have been part of it all. A golden little thread of homeliness woven into the fabric of the day.

Something worth remembering.

 Friday 26th September 2025

I didn’t bother making an entry yesterday, as it was nothing but ploughing from eleven till almost dusk with hardly a breath in between. Even black bin day failed to provide any entertainment—no whacky races to watch this week. Honestly, I could do with Nigel back to stir things up a little! Then again, if he did return, I’d no doubt be grumbling that life had become too spicy. There’s no pleasing me sometimes.

Something worth remembering happened last night though, while the three of us were sat around the dinner table. Mum remarked on how quickly the evenings are closing in now; it felt like we had only just finished summer, and here we are already eating under lamplight. We all agreed with her, nodding like we always do when mum spreads her wisdom.

Then Dad turned to me with that thoughtful look of his and said, “You do realise that if it wasn’t for the work you’re doing, I’d still be out there in the fields until bedtime?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting at, nor what reply he was expecting. All I managed was a wry, “Well, I’m glad I have my uses.”

But he pressed on, serious this time. “No, Katie. If you hadn’t done what you’ve done this week, I would have to be out there myself.”

That stopped me for a moment. “Ah! Thanks, Dad. What’s brought this on?”

He leaned back a little and explained, “You were worrying the other week when I bought the new tractor—that I didn’t have yours to trade in, and that it was somehow a burden. But it’s no hardship at all. You’re making it earn its keep, and that’s all that matters.”

Before I could answer, Mum chimed in with her quiet smile. “It’s worth it to me just to have some company of an evening.”

That settled it. And sitting there with both of them, with the lamplight soft around the kitchen, I felt something I can’t quite put into words. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was belonging—or maybe it was just the simple joy of knowing I am needed and appreciated. Whatever it was, it wrapped around me like a blanket.

As for me, it’s most certainly worth it too. I get to spend my days doing what I love, and my evenings tucked in at home with the two people I love most. Tractors and family—it doesn’t sound much, but to me it’s everything.

“a damage limitation exercise.”

 Wednesday 24th September 2025

Dad has been in touch with Mr Booth today at some point. That doesn’t sound too promising, does it?! Mr Booth, for the uninitiated, is something of an eccentric agronomist who advises several farms around here, including ours. He’s very much the image of a nutty professor—hair sticking out in all directions except for the fringe which never seem to get ruffled, glasses forever sliding down his nose, and a habit of talking as if the crops themselves are whispering in his ear. Brilliant in his field, but more than a little alarming behind the wheel.

Apparently, he’s had what he insists on calling “a damage limitation exercise.” To everyone else it was more like a brush with catastrophe. He was driving down the road when, on rounding a bend (probably on two wheels), he came upon a narrow bridge just as a car was coming the other way. Instead of slowing down like a normal person, he veered down the bank beside the bridge, bounced across the river—which luckily was more a shallow trickle than a torrent—and only came to grief when the opposite bank defeated him.

A local farmer had to tow him out, and although the front of his truck looked a bit battered, he drove away as though nothing untoward had happened. His passenger, however, had had enough. He refused point-blank to get back in, preferring to walk home while loudly declaring that Mr Booth was a lunatic. Booth’s defence? He explained that momentum was essential to climb the far bank, and since he hadn’t made it, it only proved he wasn’t going fast enough. Slowing down had never been an option. I can believe that.

Over dinner, Dad relayed the whole saga with a grin, clearly amused. Mum, however, was far from impressed. She threw Dad one of her “I told you so” looks and said again that he ought to find someone more sensible to advise us. Dad just chuckled and shook his head, saying what he always says—that Booth may be crazy, but he’s the best agronomist around and worth putting up with. I can see both sides: Mum frets about his antics, but Dad trusts him because, in the end, the fields always thrive under his guidance.

As for me, my own day was rather more peaceful. I was back ploughing, and it’s been one of those warm, golden autumn days where the sun softens everything. My mood has been light and happy, and I’ve enjoyed the time alone to let my thoughts wander as I sang along to the radio. That’s the beauty of being on the tractor—no one can hear you, so you can sing as loudly and badly as you like.

Meanwhile, Dad has been sowing seeds with his new tractor, and he could hardly stop talking about how well it’s working. He looked downright pleased with himself at dinner. Mum rolled her eyes at the machinery talk, muttering that I’d do better to learn a new recipe or sit with her knitting. I can’t help but find it all amusing. Dad and his tractors, Mum and her homemaking—different worlds, yet both dear to me. And me, somewhere between them, I feel lucky to belong to both.

A Landmark Day.

 23rd September 2025.

Today was a bit of a landmark – we took delivery of Dad’s new tractor. Quite an occasion, really, with even Mum leaving her usual business to step outside for a little look. She gave it a once-over, smiled politely, but when I tried to coax her into having a sit in the cab she just shook her head. According to her, she had “more important things to do than play around with tractors.”

It wasn’t until lunchtime that we discovered what those “more important things” were. The house was full of the rich, spicy scent of Christmas, as Mum had been busy turning the cake mixture into proper Christmas cakes. They were just starting to bake, and the smell was nothing short of glorious. Eric and I both made noises about having a slice straightaway, but Mum quickly reminded me of the little incident yesterday when I tried sneaking a bit of Christmas pudding before it had cooled. Lesson learned—I decided to wait this time.

Before wrapping up for the days work, if one could call it that, Dad and I set to and hitched the seed drill onto his shiny new tractor, while the plough was fitted back on mine, ready for the morning. With a bit of luck, I’ll be back ploughing again tomorrow.

Feather Dusters and Boiling Puddings.

 Monday 22nd September 2025

When Eric came in for breakfast with Dad this morning, he tried winding me up straight away. He said he was “awfully sorry” about getting the inside of my tractor cab filthy with cow muck and mud. Honestly, he must think I was born yesterday if he thought I hadn’t checked since they’d had it on Friday! The first thing I did on Saturday morning was wander up the yard to see what they’d been doing with the seed drill and to inspect my tractor. They’d looked after it very well, actually. I’m convinced Dad even took his boots off, because the cab carpet was spotless.

“You need to get it cleaned then, Eric,” I told him.

He just laughed and said he’d get right on it — which I doubt very much even if they had messed it up!

After breakfast, Mum and I set about the usual Monday house-cleaning. The new feather duster made its grand debut, although I didn’t get a chance to try it — Mum was far too busy playing with her new toy, like she’d been waiting her whole life for the excuse. My job, apart from the usual vacuuming, was to keep an eye on the Christmas puddings we made on Saturday. They had to boil for hours — six or seven depending on the size — with the pans topped up constantly with water so they didn’t burn. It felt like half the day was spent carrying the kettle back and forth.

Eric came in at lunchtime and immediately started sniffing the air. “Smells like burning in here!” he said, eyes twinkling. “Better let me have that burnt pudding, it would be a shame to see it go to waste.” Mum told him to clear off and get on with his lunch before I ended up throwing a pudding at him.

I finished Christmas pudding.

Five Christmas puddings. We are going to sample the one in the container before Christmas.

Once the puddings were finally cooling, Mum decided we might as well get the Christmas cake mixture underway. That meant a trip out for whiskey (since Dad had drunk the last drop!) and a few other odds and ends. I teased Mum that Dad would have to make do with licking the cake tin, same as the pudding bowl. She just gave me that dry little smile of hers and told me to mind my tongue as he doesn't need any encouragement from me.

Christmas cake mixture.

Speaking of tongues — mine is still sore. I couldn’t resist sneaking a piece of pudding that broke off when we tipped one of the bowls out. It was still red hot, and I managed to burn myself before I could taste much of anything. Mum laughed and said it served me right. She’s probably right, but at least she’s put a small pudding aside for us to try before Christmas. I can’t wait for that — provided I don’t scorch my tongue off first. I've never had a homemade Christmas pudding before.

Sunday Surprises and Vanishing Whiskey

 “Katie, Are you ready? We have to go!” came Mum’s voice from downstairs. She was right of course. I’d completely lost track of time replying to messages and fiddling about with my diary. Off to church we went. It all felt much better than last week – I was more relaxed and even managed to enjoy the chat over tea and biscuits afterwards.

On the way back, I didn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. I just gave the car horn a good blast, and out came Dad like a well-trained… well, something-or-other. We were due up at Uncle Ken’s for Sunday lunch, and when Uncle Ken says lunch is at one, you’d better be there at one. To soon and you'll fill in time by pulling lambs from unmentionable places. To late, and you'll have no Yorkshire pudding on your plate.

After the roast and pudding, everyone lingered around the table, finishing off their wine and chatting. That’s when I overheard something I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear: apparently Kimberly had been on a date with Nigel – or “that lad” who worked with us at harvest, as they called him. I nearly dropped my glass. Surely not Nigel? Surely not now? I couldn’t quite pin down when this supposed date happened. I’m hoping it was before his little trips to shopping centres and photo jaunts with Charlotte. Otherwise, someone’s heading for trouble, and I’d rather not picture it.

We were home by five. Dad got changed and went out to check the cattle in the yard, while Mum and I cobbled together a light salad for dinner – which was all any of us needed after the feast at Uncle Ken’s.

There wasn’t really enough light left for a proper cycle ride, so I just wandered along the riverbank. The sky was already bruising into dusk by the time I got back.

Later, I settled on the sofa with Dad to watch one of his crime dramas. He had his glass of whiskey in hand – his last glass, actually. Between Mum’s puddings and his evening “detective work,” that bottle didn’t stand a chance

A Pudding Plot and a Whiskey Shortage.

 Saturday 20th September 2025.

“Perhaps next time Dad takes a sip, he’ll wonder if it tastes of raisins.”

I was up early enough this morning to sneak into Mum’s bed for a while. I must confess, it was for my own ends more than for Mum’s pleasure this time. I wanted to see if I could wriggle out of going to the stables.

So, after a suitable amount of time lying there quietly, when I thought the moment was right, I asked, “Mum, would you mind if I gave the stables a miss this week?”

“Yes of course you can. I’m surprised you’ve been going anyway since you’ve been doing work for your dad,” she replied.

I thought to myself, Well, thanks for telling me, Mum! There’s me, dragging myself off each week thinking I was still obliged to go. Of course, I kept that part to myself and instead said how it would be nice to spend the day together. She gave me a hug and a kiss.

While I was getting breakfast ready, Mum asked how I fancied making a start on the Christmas puddings. I liked the sound of that very much. I know Christmas is still a long way off, but apparently they’ll keep for several years once made. This is the first time I’ve lived somewhere that bothers with making their own puddings.

So, after breakfast was done and dusted, Mum and I set off to the supermarket to gather everything we needed. It made me feel quite optimistic about the months ahead. Even at the best of times, I don’t remember my parents ever doing much for Christmas, apart from buying in a few extra drinks or the odd different food. But Mum here is something else. Back at Easter I’d already been told how she goes above and beyond with decorating the house, so now I can’t wait to see what she does for Christmas.

We got all the mixture made, and now it’s sitting in a big bowl on the pantry shelf, soaking up nearly all of Dad’s whiskey. We took pity on him and saved just enough for him to have a little sip in the evenings this weekend. I’m not sure what he’ll do after that, unless Mum plans on another shopping trip. He might just have to settle for licking the pudding bowl instead. Mind you, considering how much whiskey we tipped in, he’ll still get a decent taste of it that way!

From Seed Drills to Garden Centres.

Friday 19th September 2025

Dad decided this morning that some of the parts on the seed drill needed replacing. He says the new tractor should be arriving next week, and once that happens he’ll want to get going with the drilling. Some of the drill parts still had some wear in them but would need changing before the season ended, so since we’re already a little late starting, he thought it best to swap them out now rather than lose a day later on.

After breakfast he had me take the plough off my tractor so he could hitch up the drill and bring it out of the barn. Once I’d got that done, he sent me off to collect the parts he’d ordered. By the time I got back, he’d already attached the drill to my tractor and was busy setting it up.

Then, to my surprise, he told me to take the rest of the day off and spend some time with Mum. I was hoping to help with replacing the parts. When I went inside, I found mum huffing and puffing over the ironing, declaring (not for the first time) that half her life seems to be spent doing it. I could see then why dad perhaps thought my time was better spent with mum. So I suggested we go out to the garden center and have some lunch. Mum does love garden centers — especially the eating part.

As I was ready before her, I quickly made Dad and Eric some sandwiches to keep them going. Then off we went. Mum had a Mediterranean salad for lunch, I had a big plate of fish and chips! Hardly elegant, but very satisfying. Afterwards, we wandered around the plants and displays. They’d already put up some Christmas decorations, which felt all wrong in September, though they were pretty in their own way.

Back at home, I only meant to change out of my clothes, but I made the mistake of lying down on my bed and promptly fell asleep for an entire hour. I must have needed it.

Since our lunch had been quite filling, Mum and I just had a light dinner later on. That meant we were done nice and early, so I asked if they minded me going out on my bike while there was still a bit of daylight. I love cycling after dinner, though I know there won’t be many more evenings left for it now the nights are drawing in.

All in all, it felt like a good day — a proper mix of farm work, family time, and a little freedom of my own.

Eric Thinks He’s Clever (But He Isn’t).

 Wednesday 17th September 2025.

Another day out on the plough, the Massey Ferguson 8727s purring along like a big red workhorse. The cab was warm with autumn sunshine streaming through the glass, and with the radio playing in the background, the hours slipped by most pleasantly. Watching the soil turn over in perfect, straight furrows behind me is strangely satisfying — neat ribbons of earth laid out as if stitched with a giant needle.

Eric was at it again before I set off, pulling my leg about Nigel. He thinks he’s terribly clever, if only he knew! But I know he’s only digging because of what Mum said yesterday. I didn’t rise to it — though I may have smiled a little too knowingly just to keep him guessing. Let him stew; it does him good.

The fields are looking handsome now in their autumn colours, and there’s a calmness that settles in when it’s just me, the tractor, and the land stretching ahead. My mood’s been good all day, and I came back feeling like I’d done something worthwhile. Hard work, all that consecration, but there’s a simple contentment in it that lingers.

The scent of cooking greeted me even before I got indoors, as all the doors were open as though it were still summer. I dumped my bag on the table and went straight over to mum who was toiling over stew and dumplings. I hugged and kissed her as always when I return, "Coming home wouldn't be the same if you weren't here mum." I told her.

"Get off with you, you soft devil. Go and do what you have to do as dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."

The Bottom Is A Good Place To Start.

 Tuesday 16th September 2025.

The day started in the worst possible way for me, even before I hardly got woken up properly. Thankfully I managed to resolve the problems I'd stupidly made for myself with a permanent fix. And no - I'm not going to elaborate on my stupidity.

I will say however that things did improved as the day progressed, so ending up a good day. Which just goes to prove that starting at the bottom is not always a bad place to start. Indecently this was a  bit of advice Dave passed on to me a few years back now.

Dad confirmed over breakfast that I was to go and carry on from where we left off yesterday. I had no reason to believe that wouldn't be the case. You never know with farm work though.

Part of today's Ploughing.

Mum had her mother hen head on her shoulders today, "Just pay attention to what you're doing." She told me when I was getting my boots on ready to leave.

"I will." I assured her accompanied by a sigh which was obviously louder than I thought.

"Well your head seems to have been in a different place to what you are these past few weeks." She informed everyone as well as myself.

Of course Eric wasn't going to miss out on an opportunity like this, "She's pining for Nigel, her young heart is broken to bits!"

"Get lost Eric!" I snapped - playfully.

"Katlyn! Please." Said mum in response.

"I'd go and get on your tractor out of the way if I was you love." Said dad.

I swiftly took his advice.

Of course in my haste I went and embarrassingly reinforced everyone's observations with regard to my current disabilities, by walking off without my packed lunch. Eric caught up with me just as I was leaving he yard. He didn't say anything other than, "Have you forgot these?"

He didn't need to say anymore as the big smirk across his face said everything he was thinking. 

A Quiet Sort Of Triumph.

 Monday 15th September 2025

It seems that autumn has arrived in full force over the weekend. The air has turned sharp and cool, the winds blustery, and the rain comes and goes as it pleases. Because of this, I didn’t mind staying indoors for most of the morning, helping Mum with the housework. I never really mind doing that—it feels natural, and besides, the weather outside was hardly inviting. Mum and I worked side by side, clearing and dusting, her humming away now and then. By the time we finished, the house felt warmer, as if it had settled in against the wind.

At seven, a truck came to collect one of the last stacks of straw bales still sitting near the wind turbine. They’d been bought months ago but never picked up, and with the turbine company coming soon to fit new blades, we had to give the buyers a nudge. Mum said it would be good to have them gone—it makes her easier in herself when things aren’t left hanging about.

After lunch, Dad took me outside for what I think was a bit of a test. He had me attach the plough to my tractor. He didn’t say a word—just watched, sharp-eyed, giving nothing away. No hints, no help, and best of all no criticism. It was standard three-point linkage work, nothing I shouldn’t be able to manage by now, but it still felt like an exam. Passing, silently, was a quiet sort of triumph.

Once that was done, we went down to the field. Dad had me mark it out the same way he showed me last week. Being back on my own tractor made it easier—I felt more in tune, more steady. He gave me a quick word about the depth setting, and then left me to it. We spent a couple of hours ploughing, the rhythm of it setting in until it felt almost natural. On the way home, Dad asked if I’d feel comfortable coming back on my own tomorrow to carry on. I didn’t hesitate—I told him I’d be fine. And I meant it.

The day had been steady, calm, without too much strain. Maybe that’s why, after dinner, Dad suggested we try again with our music night. Last week we failed miserably—both of us nodding off mid-album, curled up on the sofa together. Tonight we’ll give Paul Simon’s Graceland another chance. Those evenings are my favourite: Dad stretched out beside me, Mum settled with her knitting in her chair, the fire glowing, the music drifting around us. Mum’s needles click softly in time with the songs, Dad’s arm tucks me close, and I feel as though the three of us are wrapped in the same quiet warmth. No matter how wild the winds get outside, home feels unshakable.

Simply Empty

 Sunday 14th September 2025

Church this morning, routine as always. We didn’t linger — Uncle Ken and Aunt Carole were coming for lunch, so there wasn’t time for the usual drinks and small talk after the service. It felt brisk, the sort of service that gets you in and out, which suited me fine today.

Dad did his bit: peeled the potatoes and sorted the veg Mum wanted for when we got back. That’s about the limit of his contribution in the domestic stakes — but at least it meant something edible made it to the table. After lunch I cleared away while everyone else sat and talked; I could have stayed at the table with them, but I didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy company. They drifted into the lounge eventually, to be more comfortable in their chatter. I listened for a bit, then went back to the kitchen to finish the washing up. Not feeling especially sociable these days — which is probably obvious.

Between bites of conversation I caught Dad telling Ken we need to move a stack of straw away from one of the wind turbines; they’re due to do some work on it. I’m not sure whether that will mean me being roped in.

That was about it for the day. I didn’t even get to go with Dad to check the cattle — Ken went instead — which left the afternoon thin and a little pointless. Not everything in a life demands meaning, I suppose; sometimes things are simply empty. Hardly worth writing about, I know — but if I don’t keep a record, you lot will miss me. Ha.

The Truth Cuts Deep.

 Saturday 13th September 2025

I only made it halfway down the drive with Charlotte this morning before I wanted to scream. She was all smiles, her voice bubbling over with talk of Nigel—how funny he was, how easy he made everything. She even skipped her photo society meeting last night just to go with him to Meadow Hall. A shopping centre, of all places. Sheffield doesn’t exactly sparkle, but she made it sound like magic.

Her eyes lit up when she spoke about him. That stung more than I wanted to admit. I used to be the one she’d look at like that, laughing at nothing, leaning in too close. Now I was just the friend trudging beside her, listening to the soundtrack of her new life.

I cut away at lunch. Said I needed a break, but really I just couldn’t stand to hear another word about Nigel. Rob was leaning against his garden fence, smoking like is often the case, and so at lunch I joined him.

“You look like you’re about to bite someone’s head off,” he said.

“She won’t stop talking about him,” I muttered. “It’s Nigel this, Nigel that. Why do I even bother coming here?”

He gave me a long look, like he was trying to read something written on my face. Then he said, “You’re not really mad at her. You’re mad at yourself.”

I bristled. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You had the chance,” he said. “Could’ve learned to ride with her. Could’ve gone to those photo society meetings. Could’ve shown her you cared about the things she cared about. But you didn’t. And now someone else has. That’s on you, not her.”

His words hit harder than I wanted. Because I knew he was right. I’d thought she’d always be there, waiting for me to catch up, waiting for me to—what? To admit what I never dared to say?

The truth slipped out like a crack in the dam. I wasn’t jealous of Nigel because he was fun. I was jealous because he was holding her hand in the cinema, brushing her shoulder in a crowded shopping centre, leaning close enough to catch the smell of her hair. All the things I’d thought about but never done.

From the training ring came her laughter—Charlotte’s laughter—light and bright, twining with Lyn’s. I wanted it to be mine again. I wanted her eyes to turn to me, to see me.

“Maybe I should just quit the stables,” I said, my throat tight. “Let them get on with it.”

Rob flicked his cigarette into the dirt and ground it out with his boot. “Or,” he said quietly, “you could stop hiding and do something about it.”

I couldn’t answer. My chest ached with the weight of what I wanted and the fear of losing even the scraps I still had.

The Guy Felt The Same Dread As Myself.

 They came to take Dad’s demo tractor back this morning, so naturally, I went out into the yard to watch the sad little procession like a mourner at a mechanical funeral.

After the truck disappeared down the lane, Dad wandered over, hands in his pockets, wearing the look of a man who’d just sent his prize racehorse back to the stables.

“What do you think then?” he asked.

“About what?” I replied, already suspicious.

“Which one is it to be?”

There was no doubt in my mind. “The Massey Ferguson,” I declared with the authority of someone who’d done absolutely none of the research.

“I think you’re right. It’s a nice colour red, isn’t it?” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. This was classic Dad. He had that glint in his eye — the same one he gets before offering you a “taste” of a chili that turns out to be one step removed from pepper spray.

Sure enough, before I could retaliate with a well-aimed jab to the arm, he added, “I didn’t like to say anything to Nigel, but I thought the blue and green ones clashed awfully with that nail varnish you wear.”

That earned him a proper punch. None of that playful nonsense.

“You’d better come with me after breakfast, then,” he said, rubbing his arm. “See if we can find one to your liking.”

I told him — quite rightly — that it was his tractor, so it should be to his liking. But in the end, we struck a deal: we’d both have to be happy with the purchase. Though how I ended up with joint custody of a 9 tons or 20,000 pounds hunk of agricultural steel, I’m still not sure.

Now, despite Dad’s fashion critique, it was obvious colour wasn’t really the deciding factor. That became crystal clear at the dealer’s, where the sales manager launched into what I can only describe as a dissertation on horsepower, hydraulics, and the baffling array of bells, whistles, and baffling acronyms that now come as standard on modern tractors.

Even within the Massey Ferguson S Series range, there are five options — from the 5S to the 9S — and then each of those has about five different models. It’s like choosing between ice cream flavours, if ice cream came with a 300-page operator’s manual and cost more than a luxury car.

Dad was after something around the 200-horsepower mark, so the 8S series was the obvious choice. That’s what we’d had on demo — and, I must admit, it did look rather magnificent rumbling across the field like some red-armoured warhorse.

I won’t bore you with all the options available — not unless you’ve got a few days to spare and a whiteboard handy. Truth be told, I’d probably get half of it wrong anyway. But some of the more basic choices included a front linkage (so you can run implements on both ends — the tractor’s, not yours), a front loader (which we didn’t need), satnav (because even tractors hate getting lost these days), and various external service controls for managing implements.

Anyway, after what felt like a high-stakes poker game disguised as agricultural commerce, the deal was struck. It was oddly fascinating to watch Dad in full-on “serious business mode” — all steely eyes and tight-lipped nodding. For a moment, I genuinely thought we were about to walk out empty-handed. He stood up, thanked the dealer, and made for the door with the kind of drama normally reserved for Oscar speeches.

My heart sank.

But clearly, the sales guy felt the same dread as myself — because the moment we left the sales office, he was on the phone faster than you can say "limited-time offer." Dad told me quietly not to rush out while slowing things down with a viewing of some Massey Ferguson merchandise displayed on one of the shelves. Next thing we knew, he returned with a revised deal, which must have taken some creative accounting or perhaps the sacrifice of a small goat.

Even then, judging by Dad’s expression, you’d think he’d just been asked to trade in a kidney.

The tractor we settled on isn’t actually at the dealership we visited, but it’s being brought over this coming week. Once it’s been checked and polished up like a show pony, it’ll be delivered to the farm — just in time for seeding, which is good now that the rain’s finally arrived as we need to get crackin'.

So, the Massey Ferguson 8S is on its way. Red, powerful, and blessedly nail-varnish-compatible.

A Look Of Contempt.

 The other day, Mum expressed a wish to go out to lunch again with her friend Lynette. For those who don’t know, Lynette is a chatty lady who never lets you get a word in edgeways—not even when she’s just asked you a question. It frustrates the pants off me, but Mum always seems to enjoy her time with Lynette. The fact that they were friends in school says everything about how much they must enjoy each other's company.

While I’m never forced to attend, I do get the impression that one of the main pleasures Mum gets out of having a daughter is the occasional chance to show her off. So, considering what she’s given me, it shouldn’t be beyond me to fulfill such obligations. I try to do it with meaning, from the heart, and not just as another chore—like baling for Mr. Luckyman or whatever.
When she mentioned going out to lunch with Lynette, I remembered that when we were away for my birthday, we visited a lovely little tearoom near Chatsworth. During the visit, Mum said, “What a shame this isn’t a little closer. It would be perfect for lunch with Lynette. She would love it.”

It’s about seventy miles from where we live—not too far, really. It takes about an hour and twenty minutes, which isn’t much to someone who drives a Massey Ferguson tractor for eight hours at a stretch. But for Mum, it’s too far to drive. So when she mentioned meeting Lynette, I volunteered to drive them over to the tearoom.

“Katie, dear, that’s so sweet. I can’t believe you even remembered! It’s a lovely idea, but I fear it’s a bit too far.”
“Mum! I’m a professional driver now. Honestly, I don’t mind. It’ll be nice.”

So, she got in touch with Lynette, who was happy to join us for lunch.

We also stopped by the garden center and the farm shop before heading home. As for Lynette—everything was business as usual. I defused my frustration with a walk around the village while they settled the bill. I wasn’t paying, and doing the driving, so I knew there’d be some prolonged conversation with the cashier before they could leave. That’s just how it goes with Lynette.
Simply walking around the garden center couldn’t happen without being drawn into a lengthy conversation with some random stranger about knee operations.

As is often the case with Mum and garden centers, we spent more on non-garden-related items than on anything for the garden. This time, we splashed out £7 on a feather duster with an extendable handle. We returned home and presented it to Dad as a new weekend pastime.
"I'd love to have a go with it. But knowing how you are with that tractor of yours, it will be squirreled away on there somewhere, never to be seen again."

"Oh yes, I never thought of that. Thanks dad."

Mum gave us both a look of contempt.

Ken & His Big Chopper.

 For once, I actually knew what I was doing when I got up this morning. Uncle Ken had called Dad in a panic last night because the contractors were coming to cut his maize. He’d known about this for several days, but instead of checking whether he had help lined up earlier in the week, he decided to leave it until Sunday afternoon. By then, of course, it turned out the usual help were all busy. One guy said he might be able to come later in the afternoon — if everything went well at the job he was already on. That’s when Uncle Ken thought of Dad to help get him out of his mess.

So it was that this morning, I found myself pulling into Ken’s yard at 6:45am with my tractor. The contractor — also called Ken — was already there with his big chopper, getting it ready to do some serious work. I found it very impressive. I say that because the machine was nearly the size of a combine. I was immediately directed to one of two high-sided trailers parked in the yard. These belonged to the contractor, and, just like that time with Lou at Mr. Luckyman’s, Ken the contractor was a bit sceptical about whether I’d be able to attach one to my tractor. I like to think he was just being kind and trying to be helpful, but it felt like he was quietly assessing me.

The rest of the day was full-on. I spent it running back and forth between field and farm, delivering loads of chopped maize. It wasn’t like carting grain, where you often find yourself standing around doing nothing. This was non-stop. I even had to eat my lunch while driving, which wasn’t ideal — I ended up with crumbs all over the cab.

To be honest, I actually enjoyed it. Unlike a combine, a forage harvester doesn’t store the crop. Instead, it chops it up and blows it straight up a spout into the trailer. That means the tractor and trailer have to drive alongside the harvester, on the move the entire time. It was a bit tricky at first, matching the harvester’s speed and keeping the right distance, but once I got the hang of it, it felt pretty natural. It really just depends on how the harvester’s being driven — once you understand that, it’s easy enough to keep pace.

When we’d finally finished and I was unhooking the trailer and getting ready to head home, Ken the contractor came over. He was full of praise. He admitted he’d been a bit worried when he saw me pull into the yard, but he said he was genuinely impressed at how quickly I picked it all up. Apparently, by the end of the day, I was more than keeping up with his main carting guy. He even gave me his phone number and said that if I was ever at a loose end, I should give him a ring — he could probably find me a bit of something to do.

I took it as an open invitation to come and have another play with his big chopper sometime — though I doubt I’ll take him up on it. I’m pretty sure Mum and Dad can keep me busy enough as it is.

A Cleaning Day.

 Monday 9th September 2025.

This morning I helped mum do some housework. After lunch Eric got the steam cleaner working for me and we cleaned down the baler. After washing it down we had a cup of tea while it dried. Then we painted some to the shiny bits with old oil to stop them going rusty before putting it away for the Winter.

The Bitch Within.

 Saturday 6th September 2025

I was a few minutes late arriving at the stables this morning, on account of being lost in thought and dawdling. I couldn't help but notice how autumn-like the mornings are becoming. As I strolled along the narrow asphalt lane, I looked out across the fields. The only remnants left of those wonderful harvest days were two straw stacks in the far distance. Apparently, they've been purchased by a neighbouring farmer and are awaiting collection.

My dalliance along the way meant I was last to arrive at the stables, so I missed Charlotte—in fact, I missed everyone. I collected some empty hay nets and took them to the hay shed, where I found Peter and Elizabeth. It always amuses me how these two have become one. While at the stables, they are never to be parted; Charlotte tells me they're the same when they're together at home, too.

Talking of Charlotte, I caught up with her for a few minutes during lunch break. She was bursting with news about Nigel! They went on their promised date Friday evening, which I have to confess I was a little surprised about, as I thought his interest now lay with Kimberly. I fear I was a bit of a bitch. I tried not to be—I made the right sort of noises and showed a certain amount of interest. I fear, though, that my true feelings showed through all the lovely sentiments. It was not my best moment as a supposed friend. I've suspected for some time that perhaps I'm not a friend at all, and that's just an acceptable mask.

When I left, Rob was waiting in his garden for me. I've told him before not to hang around—he has my number. I think he just likes to potter around until I show up. He didn't really want anything in particular, other than to tell me he'd seen Norman. He was in his car and not his bike, so it would seem he's fully recovered.

So, that was Saturday. Nothing overly exciting, but sometimes that can be good.

You Make Us Laugh.

Friday 5th September 2025

This morning, before breakfast I had a bit of fun with my dad. His new demo tractor was parked up the yard with the plough on, where we left it last night. So before helping mum I went out to my tractor, I couldn't help but notice there was a chill to the air, the first I'd felt in a long time. On reaching my tractor I climbed the steps to the cab where after entering I took off the name plate from behind the sun visor and took it down to the demo tractor where I placed it so that it could be seen through the windscreen. Eric spotted me as I was climbing back out of the cab and instantly saw the fun in it. This was okay as I told him to make sure dad spotted it before coming in to breakfast.

"You're a right un you are and no mistake." He said with a chuckle in his voice.

I went back inside and helped mum with the breakfast, hardly able to contain my anticipation.

Eventually I could hear there was a fair old ruckus before dad and Eric even got to the kitchen door, "Where is the little bugger?" dad said with humour in his pretend anger as he entered the kitchen.

"For goodness sake George, do we have to hear that language!" mum said scolding him.

"Come here." Dad said on laying eyes on me.

He got hold of me and gave me one of his bear hugs. "You do make us laugh!" He said before giving me a little kiss on the forehead.

"Ay, the place would be a dull place without you that's for sure." Added Eric, which made me feel nice.

Ploughing a Furrow To My Ancestors.

 Thursday 4th September 2025. ancestors 

This morning I leant during breakfast that I was to be spending the day with dad on the new demo tractor learning to use the plough. I was a bit nervous at first, but I think it was out of excitement rather than any sort of fear. The morning got off to an even better start when I beat Eric in the bi weekly bin race. Eric tried his usual cheating business by blocking my exit from the kitchen with his chair. But even though it worked and he got to the bins first, I think William had put a body the garden bin which Eric takes, because it weighed a ton. It took Eric several attempts to get it on to it wheels, by which time I was half way down the path.

The first thing we did when getting to the field was to mark out the headlands. This involves setting the plough in such away as to just leave the back furrow turning over a shallow groove in the earth. This line has to follow parallel to the field edge and is there as a guide to where to plough to before lifting the plough out of work. The point of the headlands is that it's where you turn the tractor around in order to make the next run down the field. At no point must you run on the earth that has been turned over by the plough. Once the headlands were marked out we then set to with ploughing proper.

The field we were in is in two parts, so after lunch dad drove over to the second part of the field and said for me to swap seats with him as he wanted to see me have a go. I was a bit nervous at first, the job was new to me as was the tractor.

I need not worry though as my dad's voice was a familiar, calm presence in the cab of his new Massey Ferguson 8S. "See, it's just like drawing a straight line," he said, his hand resting on my arm as I gripped the steering wheel. The engine rumbled beneath us, like a steady heartbeat. The air smelled of fresh of turned earth, which seemed to become fluid as it came in to contact with the mole boards of the plough.

The tractor, sleek and powerful in its new paint, had arrived just after the

 harvest. It was a serious piece of machinery, a big step up from the old one I was used to.

With a deep breath, I eased the tractor forward. The ground ahead was a perfect, flat canvas of wheat stubble. My dad talked me through it, his instructions simple and clear: "Find a point on the horizon, keep your eye on it, and don't let the front of the tractor drift." I focused on a lone oak tree at the far end of the field.

It was possible to just set the satnav, the line would have been perfect without me even having to touch anything. But dad said that before I used anything like that he wanted me to learn how to do it the proper way. The way that had been passed down through the generations. It was my connection to the family. I may not have been born of them, but things such as this made me apart of them. 

The first line was shaky, a little crooked at the start as I got the feel of it. I felt a surge of panic, but my dad's hand on my arm was a steady anchor. "You're doing great," he said quietly. "Just correct it slowly. Small movements."

I adjusted, and the furrows behind us began to smooth out, each one a rich, dark wave of soil. It wasn't just about driving; it was about feeling the land, listening to the machine, and moving in a rhythm with the field. It was a dance between man, machine, and earth. It is this feeling that draws me to work on the tractor. I noticed when I first drove a tractor by myself, when I was applying the fertiliser, how you can actually feel the earth that you run on change from one place to the next. The tractor somehow has an ability to communicate this with you.

Hours passed. The sun came and went as did showers of rain, and the field transformed, stripe by stripe. What was once a flat expanse was now a textured landscape of deep brown and black, ready for a new season. My dad watched from the side of the cab, his face a mixture of pride and quiet satisfaction. He didn't have to say anything at all after a while. The perfectly ploughed field, stretching to the horizon, said it all. it was very satisfying for both of us. I had learned to draw a furrow, and in doing so, I had learned a little more about my dad's world, and my place in it.

As we were leaving we saw a rainbow coloured light seemingly emanating from the top of one of the wind turbines. It was quite amazing and a wonderful end to a day with my dad learning a new skill. 

Ploughing a Furrow To My Ancestors.

Calm In The Storm.

 Because of the rain over the last few days dad said this morning that it would be fine for me to do some work with the cultivator. So today I have been out in the field all day working over some ground. There was quite a thunderstorm later on this afternoon just as I was working on the headlands. It gave me a special feeling that I would find it hard to explain to another person. All was chaos around me while I was safe, warm and dry in my little glass bubble. The way the rain as hitting the glass it made me think of the night I arrived at the big house in Scotland. Although the similarity stops there, that night I was neither warm nor dry.

Talking of my time in the big house. Someone asked me the other day following the conclusion of grandfathers lost sock. What happened to my own socks that he took from me. So below I will just explain what I should have done in the previous entry.

As was usually the case after a meal, I would help clear away the things from the staff room. So by the time I got back to our flat grandfather was on his couch watching the news. So I just shot straight through to my room. He didn't make any sign that he even noticed me, let alone had any sort of confrontation which I was expecting. As soon as I entered through the end of the curtain in to my room I saw straight away in a pile on my bed were all my socks that grandfather took away when he had hidden his own for me to find under the couch. All the time my socks had been away from me they have remained on the end of the sideboard thing in the living room. I think he left them in full view of me to serve as a constant reminder. Either that or a constant temptation to me to try and sneak some of them back. Before finding his sock I was pretty sure that was the whole point of what was happening. To see how long I could resist not taking some of them back. Anyway I was very pleased to get them. Whilst I did manage without them by wearing odd socks or my school socks when he wasn't around, I had to always be on alert for him spotting me. I was so pleased that when I left my room, after putting my sock back where they belonged, I was of the mind to thank him for their return. But as he never even acknowledged me all night I never bothered.

I think that this time that really is the end of "The Lost Sock."

Testing A 8s 265.

 Tuesday 2nd September 2025.

This morning dad asked if I want to go with him on his new tractor. Of course I jumped at the chance. It's only another demo tractor but I can tell this is the one he's been waiting to try the most. Which is why he arranged for it to arrive after harvest. So he could have a proper go with it and not let Nigel have all the fun. Another reason why I think it's the one he really wants is because it's a Massey Ferguson like his old one, the one that is now mine. It's a much newer model being a 8s 265. I think it has similar horse power to mine at 265 hp. Although this is not forced to be the tractor dad would have should he be able to do a deal for a new one.

I feel a bit bad really because normally he would swap his old tractor in and so not have to fork out as much money. But because he has given me his old on that means he doesn't have it so trade in. I thinkk he will swap in one of the John Deere's but he won't get as much for them as he would have done for mine.

So we put on the new subsoiler that he got at the weekend and he's been having a great time of it today. I only went with him this morning as I wanted to spend the afternoon with mum. We were doing some preserving. Mum picked some Damson's this morning and then we made some jam with them this afternoon. We also pickled some Beetroots. Got some apples and made an apple pie for dinner.

So I have had a busy day, and fun too.

Big Changes.

 Monday 1st September 2025.

There was a strange feeling to the farm this morning. I think we had all got used to watching for Steve and Nigel showing up for work, it was like they had been here forever, and now they weren't. I've spent sixteen years of my life in Coventry and another one in Scotland plus seven months here and during that seven months I've felt my life, disrupted I guess, by the changing seasons more than I ever did in the previous seventeen years all put together. In Coventry I hardly ever noticed the seasons change other than for such as Christmas or Halloween, stuff like that. Here though it seems like not only my life changes, and not just for a long weekend or whatever, but seemingly forever. I know it will all come around again, as long as I'm still here. But just in little more than a couple of weeks life, the look and feeling of everything has completely changed. I went a ride on the bicycle after dinner and even that has changed. The countryside was buzzing, the air was warm and seemingly the day went on forever. Tonight it was wet, there was nothing happening and it was virtually dark by the time I free wheeled in to the yard.

There now follows the second part of the back entry that I started yesterday.

Lost Sock - The Conclusion.

I sat on the edge of the couch, just staring at it. Trying to work out how could this be? It sat there looking back for all the world like the missing sock. All folded neatly as is if it were still in grandfathers sock draw where it should have been. I might be a lazy bitch who cuts corners and takes other people for fools, thinking they won't notice if I don't move the furniture to vacuum under them and such like. But I like to think that I'm not that stupid as to not realise that I'd walked right in to a trap. Worst still, one of HIS traps. In fact as I sat there it was slowly dawning on me that I had been in the trap for weeks and hadn't even realised. He had ridiculed and taunted many times. Sitting here I felt sick to the core.

I'm trying to think what to do. What can I do? I can put the couch back like I just vacuumed around it again. But now I knew what secret it was hiding, I'm not a person who can live with such knowledge and be unaffected by it. I can just put the sock back in his draw and say nothing. I can take it and hide it somewhere else. There is only one conclusion that I can rightly think of that makes sense to me. That is to just present it to him and absorb the consequences, after all, it's what I've become good at over the past year. I've decided that the best time to do this is at dinner tonight, at least there will be people around to either quell or witness his spitting fury.

I don't know, but I suspected that by the time he arrived down to dinner he knew the sock had been discovered. In fact I'm sure he was busting a gut to check every time I vacuumed the room, that's the sort of person he is.

I waited for everyone to get there and then I took a deep breath and stood up to face grandfather, "I'd like to make an apology to my grandfather before we start if I may."

He told me to sit down and shut up!

I was about to comply when Miss Oliver said, "No, please carry on, such traits are to be encouraged if necessary and sincere."
I got back to my feet and turned once again to face grandfather who was doing his best to ignore the situation by just staring down at the table. He had a strange look about him. I expected him to be angry and gloating but if I didn't know him better I would have said that he was the one getting beaten down upon and not me.

I took the sock out of my pocket and put it on the table in front of him, "I'm sorry grandfather, I found this under the couch when cleaning. I realise that if I'd been doing my job properly I would have found it sooner. please forgive my slack attitude, I promise to try harder in the future, although I do find that couch very hard to move by myself."

"It took you long enough!" is all he said and whipped the sock away to the pocket of his jacket.

"I think this sounds to me like a full evaluation in to what has happened and how it has been resolved. We will incorporate it in to your improvement curriculum at some point. Now you can sit down and resume." Was Miss Oliver's response to this.

As I sat I noticed Cindy hiding a smile with her hand, Ivan was just staring at me with a blank pained expression, like I was the weirdest thing he had ever laid eyes on and had no idea what to make of me.

I expected some kind of retribution or at least a smart comment from grandfather when we were next alone but there was never another word said by him about the lost sock.

My Choice.

 After looking over some of the tourist information items in our room, dad asked at breakfast what I would like to do. I told him that I truly wasn't bothered. He insisted that I choose with it being my birthday treat. I hesitated trying to think and make up my mind. The truth is that I would have been happy to visit the local sewage works had we gone as a family.

He took the opportunity during my brief hesitation to name a few of the attractions we had looked at and talked about. Then one he mentioned, Chatsworth House and gardens, I remembered mum had shown a keen interest in. But I thought that dad wouldn't be very interested in going there. I sort of thought myself in to having the deciding vote on the matter. I thought that after all her harvest hardships mum deserved a nice day out so I said that a visit to Chatsworth would be nice.

So that is where we spent most of today. Touring the inside of the house during the morning before having a bit of lunch in the old stables restaurant. This afternoon was spent walking round the grounds which were massive. Mum got very inspired so I think William is in for a hard time of it next time he comes. Even dad seemed to enjoy certain aspects of it.

Posh Frock

 I'm kicking myself up the bum tonight. I'm getting changed to go down to dinner and I thought how it would be nice seen as how it's a special occasion with mum and dad, that it would have been nice and special to wear the nice red dress they bought me for my adoption party. My only saving grace is that I didn't have much time to think about anything being whisked off my feet like I was.

I can't help but think that instead of telling me to mentor his favourite son, dad should do it himself. Especially with regard to the whisking off of feet business. I'm sure it would be far more effective to tell Charlotte, or whoever it is today, "Get some things together, I'm whisking you off for a luxury weekend in the Peak District, we're leaving in an hour!" Rather than, "Will you teach me to ride your horse Charlotte." 

But it did seem to work with her, so what do I know. I know which I prefer though, even if it does mean I forget half the things I need.

Swept Off My Feet.

 Saturday 23rd August 2025.

A few weeks ago mum and dad asked if there was anything special that I would like for my birthday. I really couldn't think of anything. Dad suggested maybe a little car of my own to run about in, or some jewellery perhaps. I don't go far and I have the use of mum's car or the pickup truck so I wasn't bothered about a car, it would be a waste of money. Jewelry doesn't interest me unless it has some kind of sentimental value to me. I really couldn't think that there was anything I wanted. So I told them that I already had the best of all I ever wanted and that was a proper mum and dad. So if they wanted to give me something for my birthday then the best thing they could possibly give me was their time.

So I got up this morning expecting to be asked to go and help out at the stables only to be told that I didn't have to. I will have to stop second guessing what I'm doing in a morning and just wait and see! At breakfast Eric came in with dad, which he never does on a weekend. He had brought me a card, some chocolates, a Massey Ferguson T shit and cap.

After breakfast mum passed me an envelope with a card in it and a sheet of paper telling of a hotel booking for three people staying two nights in a nice hotel in Derbyshire. I was then told to go and get a bag packed as we were leaving after we got breakfast cleared away. Talk about sweeping a girl off her feet!

I gave them both a big hug and thanked them more than once. 

"Well it beats me why all you want for your birthday is two old buggers like us but if it makes you happy then that's fine." Said dad when I gave him a big thank you hug.

I assured them both that this was the best birthday present I've ever had and all I could wish for. Just being with them together is always so special to me.

I quickly got ready while they cleared away the breakfast things. We left at just after eleven and arrived at a small town called Bakewell at just after one. So not to much of a journey. It gave us time to have some lunch and then this afternoon look around the town. It's a really nice place with a river running through it. A nice river too, not like the one near us. We sat on a seat by the river and eat ice cream and watched the ducks. I couldn't make my mind up which flavour to choose so dad bought me one of each! Not at the same time though or one might have melted before I got chance to eat it. One was mint flavour and the other rum and raisin.

We then went to find our hotel which is just out of Bakewell at a place called Rowsley. Which is just a small village, which also has a river running through it, but not the same river as the one at Bakewell apparently. It might be worth me making a note of that incase we get a sudden snow storm!! I'd hate to make the same mistake twice and follow the wrong river.

We are going down for a meal later. I will leave it here for today though as I'm not sure if I will be able to post it later.

Nigella.

 I lay in bed this morning thinking that I knew what I was to be doing today. I assumed that I would be needing to give the baler a good clean and make it ready to be put away for the Winter. So with that in mind I thought there was no rush to be going outside and decided to help mum with breakfast.

At just after nine thirty Eric and dad came in, "She's here." Eric said to dad over his shoulder.

"What's up, have you been having a lie in this morning?" He questioned me.

"I've been helping mum get breakfast."

"Have you retired from farming now then?" Chipped in dad.

They both had big grins on their faces and were obviously pulling my leg.

I threw the T-towel at Eric, turned on my heel and stormed off out of the kitchen with my best pouting face on, faintly slamming the door behind me as I went.

I soon returned with an equally big smile on my face. Of course they all knew what I was doing. 

Eric called me Nigella and says I that I haven't got to to talk to anyone now and sit sulking on my tractor for two days. I told him that was no problem as I had been highly trained in silent treatment over the past couple of years.

Dad told me not to bother with the baler just yet as there was still time for it to be used again. Instead he wanted me to go and pick up a set of points for the cultivator tines as it needed new ones.

So that is what I did after breakfast. Mum decided to come with me as she wanted to go to town. I suspect she wanted to pay the guys in the farm store another visit. Or was worried that they might sell me one of those fancy fleece jackets that attract farm boys! By the time we had got everything we needed it was lunch time so we called in at a garden center on the way home and had some lunch. I had fish and chips, mum had a baked potato with tuna and salad. I'd missed doing this sort of thing with mum, I really enjoyed it. Mum ended up buying some plants that she liked. She too commented on it being like old times, this reminded me how I had been neglecting my relationship with her. Not that I could help it of course.

This afternoon Eric and I fitting the new points to the cultivator which was quite fun. I enjoy doing things like that. What was it grandfather said, "She can't even dress herself properly let alone be of any use fixing plumbing." Or something like that. Maybe I could have surprised him had he not gone off and left me.

I Want To Start Again.

 Thursday 21st August 2025.

Nigel and I have been working up at Uncle Ken's today. I thought I would be after getting finished with our straw baling yesterday. I don't know if dad had forgotten that I promised to let Nigel have a go on the baler but I had to remind him this morning over breakfast. He pulled a bit of a face as though it was a problem, so I also had to remind him that it was his suggestion that I sort the Nigel problem out.

"You can't ask her to do something then complain when she does it." Said mum sticking up for me.

Dad did agree before saying he didn't mind, he just wanted him moving bales with Steve.

It's recycling week this week so Eric and I had to do the bin carry on, which he managed to win on account of him putting this huge stone on top of my bin as he managed to get out of the door before me. By the time I rolled it off Eric was half way down the path.

I found Nigel sitting on his tractor waiting to see what to do. When I told him to bring his lunch and anything else he might need, as he was coming baling with me, he couldn't get off his tractor fast enough. And just as I did a few weeks back he leapt off the wrong way. Of course I stopped him and made him get back on and do it properly. He started to say something and I think thought better of it, as he did as he was told.

I drove to Ken's place, it was my place to do so. I owned everything about this project, he was simply there to do as he was told when I tell him. To be fair to him he was happy with that.

As usual there was some hanging about waiting for Ken to put in an appearance. To be honest he was there, it's just that he was supervising Kimbely who was doing something with some sheep in the race. I kept well out of the way, but on spotting Kimbely Nigel suddenly developed an interest in sheep. So much so I was beginning to think I was going to be doing the baling by myself, because even when Ken came to me Nigel didn't! I had to call him in the end. It seems that Kimberly is a nice girl according to Nigel!! I reminded him that he thought the same thing about Charlotte the other day when he asked her out. He grinned and pointed out that Kimberly is a farmer thought. I didn't bother asking what different that made.

When in the field I showed him how set the baler up for working. I did the outside rounds with him just watching and me telling him things.

"I don't know why I'm having to tell you this stuff, I thought you were an expert?"

"I have done loads of baling but not with a baler like this." He said.

I took that to mean that the one he used was a different brand. It turns out though to be what we call a conventional baler, or small baler. It's the sort of baler that makes the size of bales you can handle manually. Which explains how he was able to make so many more bales that I was able to in a day. There's probably fifteen or more of his bales to just one of mine. Honestly, if I wasn't supposed to be his mentor for the day I would have strangled him.

After I did the outside rounds I set him off doing the up and down rows. I was quite pleased actually because before jumping in to the driving seat he removed his boots. I thought it was cool that he had taken account and was respecting my workspace.

He did alright and I could tell he was enjoying himself because when Ken had finished with Kimberly he came to fetch Nigel who expressed a lack of interest in going. I explained to him that it was out of my hands as it was what dad wanted. So it was that he had to go helping Ken to move the bales from the field back to the yard.

I was sort of pleased as this was to be my last day on the baler. Finishing off the way I'd spent most of my first harvest was the best way to finish. I was quite sad when I shut down the baler for the last time. I'm sure most people would be thinking, thank goodness for that. I enjoyed every minute of it though, and would be quite happy to start all over again tomorrow.

Dreams

 I had a terrible nights sleep last night. There was a time in my life when I had bad dreams and nightmares every night guaranteed, but for quite some time now as soon as my head has hit the pillow I'm asleep. Sometimes I will listen to music as I go to sleep and when I do I often don't hear much past one or two tracks and the next thing is the alarm going off with nothing in between as sleep happens that quickly. As I say, there was a time when I would have dreams every night after and after everyone it would take that long to get back to sleep again I would just give up and go and play a game on my computer or something.

Anyway for the first time in months I had a dream. I can even remember it in some detail. It started with me outside in a place I didn't know, and in the dark with I think a light aircraft or a drone flying around. I either knew, or assumed that it was the authorities looking for me. If I knew the reason why, I no longer recall the reason. So I was hiding behind walls and anything really to shield me from view. Next thing I'm running and end up in a workshop type place. An old American style pickup truck to my right and in front was a work bench and in front of that was two, what looked to be teenage gang members. I feel there were more, but I could only see two. I was looking through this gap in the bench and it was sort of weird because I knew they would see me through the gap if they looked my way, but for some reason I wouldn't duck down out of sight. Instead I knelt there looking at their faces wondering what will happen if they see me. Which I felt sure they would, but for whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to hide properly to conceal myself. I remember thinking the the best place to hide was to lay on my back under the pickup truck until they either drove off in it or left the place. I remember it driving off over the top, missing me by inches. But that could have been me just running the idea through my mind because it seemed that the over riding debate with in me was whether to hide and risk being discovered, or was it just best to give myself up, which may be better received by them, therefore giving me a better overall outcome. So for that reason I don't think the hiding under the truck actually happened. I had a feeling the gang weren't nice people and that my presence there would not be welcome. I think I was perhaps thinking they may help me escape whoever was looking for me with the aircraft. Anyway I woke up at that point. Sometimes after a dream I know I've had one but retain absolutely no detail from it. This one I remembered, I think all of the dream, but if not I remember most of the detail from that which I can recall.

I had several more dreams last night, in fact the whole night seemed to consist of them, just like the old days. I only remember the first one though. So this morning I have woken up feeling completely destroyed. I feel more tired than I did yesterday morning after the late night working.  I'm now worried that those dream times are returning.

I was supposed to be going baling today, but just as I was about to set off it came a light shower, so it had to be postponed. Instead I went back indoors and helped mum with some housework, it felt like old times.

By lunch time it had brightened up a little, so me and dad went and had a look at the straw to see if it would be alright to bale. It seemed that the rain had burnt off so dad said to go and bale up one of the fields and then to come back home as there was no point in working to late now. So today has been a bit of a mixed bag, what with one thing and another. 

Dad and Nigel brought the combine back to the farm and got it cleaned down and ready to put away when the new tyre gets fitted.

Mum was telling me that she had been talking to Leah in the afternoon and it seems that Norman has been knocked off his bicycle. Apparently someone opened their car door as Noman was passing and he hit it knocking him off. He had to make a trip to the hospital but is said to be alright apart from some bumps and bruises.

Confessions Of The Cake Baker.

 Dad told me last night, or rather, this morning, to turn my alarm off as there was no need to rush to get up. Everyone had been given the day off so there was reason why I shouldn't have one too. Anyway he need not have bothered as I still work up naturally at seven fifteen, which is only fifteen minutes after my alarm would have gone off anyway. However I did stay in bed for another half hour. There was a time when I could stay in bed doing nothing for several hours at a time. I was rarely up before ten on a weekend or holidays but it seems that now I am either asleep or wanting to get up, I can't just lie there. I think that maybe the difference now is that I have more to get up for. Even though I wasn't going to be doing anything on the farm today, there was breakfast to make and lay the table for. Dad was out seeing to the cattle so I could go and see how he was getting on. 

As it was I messaged dad, then took a shower, by which time there was a reply to my message when I returned to my room. "I'm doing fine my dear, nearly done so stay where you are. Love dad xx."

So with that I went and helped mum by letting her know that dad wouldn't be long, and laying the table for breakfast. While I was waiting for dad to arrive I had a quick scan through the Farmers Weekly. Whereupon I couldn't help drooling over the picture of a Massey Ferguson 8s!!

After breakfast mum and I went to church, everyone was so pleased to see me. Some of them expressed concerns that I was never to return. Moss being one of those, which I think must have had something to do with him seeing fit to come clean over being the one to be making me the cake every week. He even started showing me pictures of all the amazing wedding cakes he has made for people over the years, even offering to make mine when the time comes! On hearing that mum decided that it was time to leave, or maybe she was leaving anyway!

Victoria sponge cakes made for me by Moss.

Dad was waiting for us when we got back as he was treating me and mum to dinner out at a pub. It was a  nice enough day to sit and eat outdoors which I've come to enjoy doing. There was a time when I hardly ever went outdoors unless I was forced to go to the shops or something. I would never have dreamt of eating outdoors. 

On the way home we called in at a  village fete that was local to the pub we had visited. It was quite pleasant although a lot of it was finished by the time we arrived.

This evening has been spent sitting on the sofa snuggled up to dad watching a TV program called 'Ridley'. We must have both dozed off as I woke up at one point with a wet knee where dad had gone and spilt what was left of his whiskey on it. He blamed me for going to sleep on the job. I usually manage to catch it before it spills anywhere. Mum says he should just pour the stuff straight down the drain and have done with it, save spilling it all over the place and messing a glass up. Mum never says anything like that without cracking me up. Poor dad he gets no sympathy.

The Last Day Of Cutting.

 Saturday 16th August 2025.

Today started good. I was on the grain game again. Nigel took dad over to Cuckoostone Farm where the combine spent the night. I stayed and helped mum clear away the breakfast things as there was no rush for me to get going as Nigel would have the job covered for a while. They needed to get the combine checked over and get some cutting done before I needed to be there. This is to be our last day of cutting for this harvest, which to be honest I was feeling a little sad about. It will be nice to get back to shorter days and more time with mum. But on the other hand I've really enjoyed the busyness of it all.

Everything was going to plan and we expected to be finished in time to bring the combine home with us. Then when dad was checking something on the combine after just having lunch he noticed that one of the rear tyres was misshaped. My untrained eyes had to look close to see it but he was in no doubt. He said there was nothing he could do and so pressed on with the job. He only got halfway back up the field when there was this huge bang. Nigel told me the tyre just blew. We went down the field and sure enough the tyre was flat and had a big slit in it.

Dad called several contacts and while there were people willing to come out and fit a new one they didn't have a new tyre to fit. Welcome to the UK in 2025! Eventually he found a machinery dealer who had a combine in their yard with a wheel that would fit our combine. So it was decided that dad would take off the wheel of our combine while I drove Nigel over to the dealers to pick up the one that they were loaning us. So we first had to drive back to the farm to pick up tools dad needed to remove the wheel from our combine. We then drove to the dealers who had kept their promise and had the wheel off ready for us to load on to our trailer and take to dad who soon had it fitted on our combine. I then took the truck and trailer, which now had the dodgy wheel on it, back to the farm where I picked up my tractor and went back to the field.

We lost so much time that I actually picked up the tea and took it back to the field with me. We only end up getting one load of grain off all afternoon. Dad gave us a choice during tea time to either stop at a reasonable time and return on Sunday to finish off, or press on until it was done which probably wouldn't be until midnight. Me and Nigel agreed to stay and get finished today, as did Eric and Steve when Nigel got to the farm and put it to them also. Yes, Nigel is now talking to everyone!

It was sort of funny, because when returning to the farm to get the pickup and trailer we went on my tractor and during the journey Nigel asked if this was the promised ride on my tractor.

"No of course not, unless you want it to be."

I reminded him at this point that he had yet to tell me one way or the other if he wanted to have a go on the baler with me. I'm keen to let him know that he is coming for a trip with me rather than him getting to do the job as he pleases.

"Yes for sure I do, I thought that was obvious."

I noticed a tone to that - did you? I nearly said that I didn't like his attitude, but it brought back certain memories of a road I never want to go down. So I tried to present it to him in what I hoped to be a more positive way.

"It might be obvious to you, but it may or may not be to others so it's important that you still communicate your feelings and wishes to avoid confusion and so missing out and leading to disappointment." I told him.

Anyway we got on well with the cutting, although it was way to late to bring the combine home. We did get it finished, and after a bit of supper I got to my bed at ten to one which wasn't to bad considering how a lot of people will still be up clubbin' and what have you way later than that.

Fire That Eric

 I woke up this morning with Nigel on my mind. I know, not good is it! We can't think like that anymore though can we. I have a bit of an idea about something but the trouble is I've sort of jumped in to the middle of the solution so there are gaps at either end, particularly the first end. Meaning I that I'm not sure yet on how to get to where I am, also I'm not sure whether I'm going to end up where I want to ideally be at the end. Laid in bed for five or so minutes I decided that the first step to any progress was to find out if he was actually talking to me. We needed to be talking or nothing is ever going to happen.

So it was with this thought in mind that I got up and dressed. I passed mum in the passage between the rooms and gave her a good morning hug before going out to get the baler and tractor ready. My original thought was to just swap the baler for the trailer that I would be using today. But then I thought it best to have the baler ready to go as I would be needing it again some time soon. So I got that, and my tractor ready to go before taking it off and putting on the trailer I was to be using. I checked inside because I knew the last time it was used was on a wet day, the boys had been using it for manure carting. Dad had said they cleaned it out but it didn't hurt to check. The last thing I wanted was to pull up along side the combine only to find it covered in cow manure. It was all clear though. I checked the brakes, lights and tyre's for cuts and correct pressures. All was good. So I went in the house and spend time with mum while helping her with breakfast. I could see Nigel's car in the yard but couldn't see him anywhere. At least he was here so I had all day to see him.

After breakfast dad set off with the combine towing the header trailer with Nigel in front with a grain trailer acting as an escort to warn oncoming traffic of a wide vehicle approaching. I'm not sure if that it a legal requirement or just something we do for safety reasons. I followed along behind after having a word with Eric and Steve about the current situation with Nigel. Who apparently is only conversing with them in shrugs and nods when forced to do so. Eric had a few choice words to say on the matter but said he would try and behave himself in order to help me.

I caught up with Nigel when in the field. As dad was only just starting after attaching the header there was a time when Nigel and I would be redundant for a while until the tank on the combine needed emptying. So I chose this time to make my approach to Nigel who was just sitting there on his tractor. It was a 3-2-1 moment to get myself moving. On approaching his tractor I made a gesture to him indicating that I wished to get on with him. He opened the door, so I climbed up into the cab and closed the door behind me.

"I take it I don't need to remove my shoes?"

Looking round the cab was still a mess, "I don't suppose we can have this cab tidied up a bit can we, my dad will most likely want to use this tractor soon."

My request was greeted with a shrug of the shoulders and silence.

I sat for a minute in my own silence thinking.

"It doesn't have to be this way you know. No one has anything against you personally, just your attitude."

Still nothing, he sat there fiddling with the computer screen.

I sat for a while thinking some more. I'd had an idea in my head, but I didn't want to implement it until I got something from him, as I didn't want it to appear as something I was offering to get him out of his sulk. I was at a loss now, I even got to wondering what grandfather would do. But then I thought, what ever it was it would most likely make things worse. Then I remembered one of Miss Oliver's Etiquette & Self Improvement lessons, the basis of which is, that if you pick a subject that you know someone has a passion for, you can sit back and hardly have to say a word, as they will do all the talking for you. I think it was intended more for social occasions rather than a suborn boy trying to prove a point. 

I thought it was worth a try though, so asked, "So, how do you think this tractor compares to the New Holland that we had before?"

After looking at me and seeing that it was a serious question and not just a trick to get him talking, he started to open up and was still talking about tractors when the beacon lit up to say that the combine  needed to be emptied.

I thought that this was as good a time as any to implement my master plan. Especially as I wasn't sure when I would get him alone again, and also were already discussing tractors, therefore it wouldn't come across as me trying some kind of bribing tactic to get in with him again,

"Have you never driven a Massey Ferguson then?"

"I have, but it was an old one and very beat up." He replied.

"When we get finished cutting I can take you out on mine to have a go with the baler if you want?"

He looked at me quickly before turning back to keep an eye on the grain loading in to the trailer. It turns out he isn't as green as he is cabbage looking.

"What are you after?" He said with a certain amount of reservation in his voice.

Apparently the giveaway was that he finds me weird when I'm being nice!!! Seen as how he was on to me I thought it best to be honest.

"Nothing you need worry about anyway. I'm your boss and I'm here because you have a problem and it's my job to sort it out".

"Well you can fire that Eric to start with!"

"Ha ha - I'm not going to do that am I? Anymore than I would fire you for treating a new tractor like a garbage truck. I've had a word with Eric and Steve and they've promised not to joke around with you anymore. Now it's up to you to have a bit of respect for their feelings also, and that's the end of it."

We had now arrived back at my tractor, so as I was leaving I quickly added, "So all you have to do now is decided if you want to carry on be being miserable or move on and make your mind up if you want to come with me for a day baling. Just let me know some time."

With that I was gone.

I saw him again at tea time but there were others around so we didn't speak one to one again.

That evening I told dad what I'd done, as he would be needing to let him off work for a day to come with me.

"I knew my faith in you would be rewarded. Not easy for you I'm sure but you did really well my dear. Just make sure he's there to learn and not to play though. You must make him do it as you want him to do it and not like he wants to. He needs making clear of that before he even sets foot on the tractor."

I promised that I would. I really appreciate the trust he is placing in me.

Of course this is all said not knowing if he wants to come with me. But I'm assuming he will.