Mrs Down's Diary - December 30

One particular friend who has gone through several (and I mean several) marriages and subsequent divorces, seems to have come up with the best solution yet that I have heard of to solve the vicissitudes of single life, fill his time with female company, see the world and be fed, housed and clothed at no expense to himself.

He has become a dance partner on a cruise ship.

Perennially circling the world and rather hoping, I think, to meet that rich, single woman of his dreams.

Such women I am sure, would never consider the role of a farmer's wife.

Not this week anyway.

Nor many others probably when I look back at the ups and downs of agricultural life over the last year.

It can be idyllic I know, but when you see for example the trail of straw and puddles currently decorating the kitchen and utility room, and the host of fresh scratches in the bottom of my sink, I tell you, any woman would think twice.

The water troughs in the foldyard have frozen up and John needs hot water to defrost them and what better place than from the farmhouse .

It makes things difficult she says with just a hint of farming nonchalance.

When you add to this the grit mixture, to melt the ice, that John bought from a supplier that seems to consists of an equal mix of salt and mud, I have been thinking of giving up completely on trying to keep the floors clean.

Compounding the mess is my grandson Ollie, whose sole ambition is to run a track of Thomas trains straight across the pathway of any passerby.

I have lost count of the number of times I have tripped over a stray engine or tender.

Only to be muttered at darkly by Ollie for wrecking the set up.

Mind you he has been stretching the tolerance of his grandmother just about as far as it will go.

A treasured rocking horse, bought for daughter Jo on her sixth birthday was pushed over in a fit of pique when I would not put on Ollie's favourite DVD.

Result. One headless horse.

Dapple is now in rocking horse hospital and not expected back until well into the New Year.

Still worse things happen.

My entire flock of little bantams, hatched out in the summer and ready to lay next spring have been killed by a marauding fox.

Unfortunately for him however, he came visiting in the snow.

I appreciate that everything is hungry at this time of year, but he ate one or two and just killed the rest and left their bodies for a return snack.

That I am afraid was his undoing.

We had heard the dogs barking regularly at about three o'clock in the morning and after seeing where his tracks led, this particular morning he was expected. End of visits.

"Cold job though" John said, "Get the kettle on."