Mrs Down's Diary

WE are suffering from a plethora of parties. At least I think that's what you call it. Three parties on the trot in one weekend is just too much of a good time, especially when there is still silage to bag and haytime creeping up on us.

WE are suffering from a plethora of parties. At least I think that's what you call it. Three parties on the trot in one weekend is just too much of a good time, especially when there is still silage to bag and haytime creeping up on us.

Party number one was in the village. Held in one of the recent barn conversions. At least, I thought it was recent until they told us they had been in the village for 11 years and I realised with an uncomfortable jolt how quickly time flies.

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There was a marquee, roast, bands and sing-ers. And rain. Lots and lots of rain. The longest day of the year and the coldest and wettest I could recall. Just imagine if it was your wedding day. All that planning and then appalling weather.

But the guests certainly did not let it dampen their exuberance for a celebration. Nor did their ducks. They have a superb pond, complete with decking and summerhouse. A bit more upmarket than our fishing hut made of pallets. John looked very edgy the whole time. He thought he knew what was coming the minute we left. . . "Why can't we have. . .?" So I surprised him and didn't ask.

Then on to an agricultural college reunion. Slightly dwindling number. Tragedy, accidents and illness had taken their toll. There had been 40 in John's year and only 17 attended, although a significant number now live abroad and could not come. Few farm their own land.

Several are builders, one or two agricultural contractors, two have agribusiness enterprises, such as artificial insemination, and there are a sprinkling of DEFRA people. Three others still work on the estates they laboured on before college. John was the only one who had gone from farm labourer on an estate to farm owner on his own. He has worked hard to gain his independence and I am proud of him.

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Back in the early hours of the morning we remembered that we had forgotten to fasten up the hens, ducks and geese. Fortu-nately, no harm had come to them from Mr Fox, but they nearly paid the ultimate price for our good time. So up early this morning to feed round, check the sheep and cattle and let the ducks, hen and geese out after their short internment. Then off to Jessica, our granddaughter's, sixth birthday party. This social life is a killer. And the sky was blue, too. Not a drop of rain after yesterday's deluge.

Fortunately, six year olds' parties in play barns need little input from grandparents. Just to be there for the obligatory blowing out of candles and hoovering up any spare sandwiches. Hot foot back to the farm to feed our daughter's in-laws and friends she had had to stay. Jessica became very proprietorial with the farm to school friends that accompanied her for tea.

John sensibly disappeared at this time to turn some grass he has cut for hay. The weather forecast is quite settled for this week and he plans to make some small bales for calves and to feed the sheep when they are inside next year at lambing time. In farming you need to plan ahead.

We call the field he was turning the Shoulder of Mutton. It is tucked away and secluded. Well inland. He did not turn up for a very long time and looked remarkably refreshed when he did. "Farmers have a very good range of excuses to clear off," Bryony's mother-in-law said. "And" I thought, "a lot of places to park up in their tractor and grab a quick snooze".

This feature first appeared in the West Sussex Gazette on July 16 2008. To read it first, buy the WSG every Wednesday.

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