The day started early – very early – and I awoke with a start. Something was creeping up my leg. I threw back the duvet to investigate, but before I could see anything in the darkness I felt the painful jab of a bee sting in my leg. I swore loudly and awoke Mrs P, who asked if I was dreaming. Dreaming? I’d show her my leg in the morning.

We’ve always had wild bees in the roof and this one was clearly enticed out by the sunny weather and found his way inside and under the covers. Maybe he had hibernated there... but Mrs P was having none of it – she’d changed the sheets earlier that day.

Sure enough, my leg was the size of an elephant’s as I struggled out of bed at seven o’clock. I was annoyed because I had a busy day of spreading ahead and I’d be hobbling between the tractor and JCB. Nonetheless, I left Mrs P sleeping, had the Weetabix and headed over to the yard.

It was a lovely, dewy, still morning, almost autumnal, with a touch of frost and the fiery sun was eagerly arising in a perfect sky. The forecast was good and the temperature had got up to 17°C, which is unheard of for the end of February. Global warming? Nah, it reached 20°C in a February in the 1890s. But it feels like too good, too soon and you’d be nervous about what has to come. Snow?

Great weather for spreading fertiliser and the tramlines were never so dry at this time of the year. I’d get going shortly once the cattle were fed and I’d seen my man, Jason, who’d be in shortly. He’d be busy spreading pig slurry on a grazed-off cover crop, so a double dash of goodness there ahead of spring barley.

The day is so calm that the fertiliser dust hangs suspended in a trail as I speed up and down the tramlines

I’d organise Bernard for ploughing it in later in the day – we don’t have a plough. Bernard is like Houdini. I’d leave him working in the field when he’d disappear, leaving the tractor in the field. You could chain and lock him into the cab, but he’d still escape.

The day is so calm that the fertiliser dust hangs suspended in a trail as I speed up and down the tramlines. The crops look superb, with not a bare wet patch to be seen.

But the warm days have sent the oilseed rape into rapid stem extension and it’ll be flowering in no time, which may be too early. Plant growth regulator will pull it back.

Fertiliser

Fertiliser spreading has come on in leaps and bounds over the last 40 years. I’m old enough to remember slavishly man-handling hundredweight bags off the ground without pallets. Now 600kg bags have made it so easy. We used to use bulk fertiliser, but it doesn’t really suit and, besides, I take early delivery of all the Yara nitrogen for the year ahead in October. It’s less waste and safer in big bags.

While spreading, I’d spotted patches of strong wild oats in three wheat fields. With such good spraying conditions and with the fertiliser nearly finished, I decided to go and give them a sniff of Broadway Star.

The system is more flexible now since I no longer spread the fertiliser with the Bateman.

And so a busy day comes to a close. After supper I expose my swollen leg to Mrs P to elicit some sympathy. “Goodness,” she says with pronounced northern intonation. “How did that happen? Can’t have been a bee and it certainly isn’t a flea. It must be a reaction to the fertiliser.”