A boot-full of lovely fresh smelling hay just purchased from Pip at Llanafon Fawr.

Spotted her advert in the local farming supplies shop, rang and was given directions and the post code for the satnav; supposedly only ten minutes away.

Took the scenic route from the Post Office along single track lanes, with ducks feeding in them, through farmyards and front gardens and turned right off the B4358 and two cars facing in opposite directions with the drivers having a chinwag.  Slowly approached which signalled “no hurry, take your time, but we would like to pass you today if you don’t mind”.  Eventually, they part and we drive on to a farm gate; once through, a small track to the farmhouse with an attached barn.  Knock on the door to no reply, but the upper access hatch in the barn is thrown open – just like a Hardy novel with a strapping Tess Durbyfield about to appear.

Pip then appeared at the door as bale after bale is thrown out of the hatch.  We got five in the back of the Jeep.  Turns out that Pip knows our house, and has lived in the area for forty three years.  The field that produced the hay had not been fertilised in thirty eight years and Kew Gardens had recently visited to take seeds of long lost specimens.  It’s never a simple task going shopping!