There has been much confusion surrounding the events of last summer and no one except my shameful self knows the real story. I get hounded everywhere I go by people wanting to know the truth, I have even had letters posted through my letter box claiming that they know what I did last summer, although I haven’t heard any more about the subject since.

But, at the request of Toby the farmer I have decided to finally spill the beans and release this tale into the ‘electric moors’. (inter-net) and you will finally understand why I love farm, but I don’t love sheep.

It was summer last year- a good year I recall. Carrots were at their finest and my tomatoes were large and plump like a series of swollen glands. The cows were doing well and I had already had 14 new calves added onto my little spot of heaven in the rolling hills of Devon. They all were doing rather well and were still in high spirits despite the room (or lack of) in the cow pen. The only thing wrong with my idealistic life was a slight problem I had with my arms seizing up occasionally but it was nothing to worry about according to the local “doctor” (old farmer Bill), So all was well really.

It had been a hard day and the darkness was creeping in, so I went indoors and rested my feet beside my open fire -nearly burning my new cords in the process- and lit up my pipe. I was just staring to nod off when I heard a knock at the door. I though to myself ‘who the devil could that be at this hour?! it’s half bloody seven in the evening!’ and I grabbed my air rifle. (you can’t be too cautious in these parts. Oddly enough we seem to get a lot of door-to-door salesmen, god knows why but I most certainly do not want to buy another Box Jellyfish for £3.20! The last one killed 13 of my beloved geese)

I cautiously opened the door to see a dark figure approach. I aimed straight for the genitals and fired my round narrowly missing. I frantically tried to reload the gun as the figure flinched and started to raise his hand up towards me. ‘probably trying to give me a leaflet on discount cruises to Malta in a rubber dingy’ I thought to myself. ‘I’ll get the bastard’. Then the figure spoke what I first took for as Latin so I fired another shot, but it was actually my good friend Toby who owns the farm up from mine. Turns out he was shouting some nonsense about me almost castrating him, not Latin like I first thought. I apologise and invited him in for a game of Backgammon or 2 but he insisted he couldn’t stay long and the he didn’t have time for a Backgammon tournament. He informed me that he needed my help the next morning and that we would discuss it further when I got there. I agreed and said I’ll be up at his field by half 7 (I practically had too seeing as I almost blew away his manhood). He then headed on his way and I returned to my sanctuary of comfort by the fire and then dozed off into some dream about getting a new rainbow coloured John Deer tractor.