Every second presents it's own dangers on a farm. The risk lies in the fact that we are in our own yards, doing the same things we have done since we were children. Familiarity breeds complacency.

My own brush with danger came when I was 22. It was February, we were lambing. After lunch, my brother went to fill the meal for the ewes, while I went to check the shed. I found three ewes had lambed in one pen, with six lambs between them. I went down to tell Lar not to bring the meal up, as the sound of the Massey 165 would lead to confusion in the shed. He was already loaded and backing out. I hailed him, he stopped, I opened the door, we talked. He was riding the clutch, and a combination of a mucky welly and a worn pedal meant his foot slipped. Three seconds later I was lying on the ground under the tractor. It had driven over my legs and one arm.

It all had happened so fast. The tyres' tread was worn, and the yard was stone, so I luckily I broke no bones, but I tore every ligament it seemed, and was on crutches for weeks and in physio for months.

No permanent damage, but a salutary lesson.

The speed it all happened at was frightening. Despite the worn tread, I was pulled under the tractor so one ankle was driven over by the back tyre of the far wheel.

One permanent legacy- my ankles kept twisting, so I began wearing doc martens to protect them. The ankles have been fine for twenty years, but I rarely leave the house without my docs.

Be careful out there.