Everything was going along just nicely with Mrs P. Having recently taken early retirement, she’s been able to spend lots of time in the garden, which she loves. Provided we (that’ll be Man Friday, Max or me) do the strimming, hedge trimming and the mowing, she potters away to her heart’s content. Alas, once more I’ve blown this Elysian Paradise apart. I’ll never learn.

A friend was over one evening recently and when we had retired to the gentleman’s smoking room, he casually mentioned that he was going to sell his ex-army Unimog, complete with a lift-off two-person accommodation body.

I should explain to those of you who may not know what a Mercedes Unimog is. It’s essentially a rugged four-wheel-drive off-road truck, typically used by armies and emergency services to move men and equipment in extreme conditions.

While originally developed for agriculture in 1948, ironically the Unimog never made huge inroads into agriculture. The 1970s and 1980s were perhaps its heyday, with demount sprayers fitted where the Unimog’s high clearance and coil suspension was useful, before the market became saturated with purpose-built self-propelled sprayers. But they still sell into agriculture, principally as a high-speed haulage/transportation vehicle.

It’s essentially a rugged four-wheel-drive off-road truck, typically used by armies and emergency services to move men and equipment in extreme conditions

“You must be kidding if you think I’m going camping with you in a Unimog,” said Mrs P to me, sounding particularly Northern, because she was cross. I have to say Mrs P is never normally cross, so this was serious. And in case you’re wondering, she knew exactly what a Unimog was since Max, aged one, had a green Britains’ one in the pram.

“Ah, it would be no bother to you to climb up into one, in a pair of jeans,” I retorted, adding “We could pull in and camp in the most beautiful extreme places like high up in the Slieve Blooms or the Scottish Highlands. Think of all the B&B money we would save.”

“I won’t be going to the Scottish Highlands in that yoke with you,” Mrs P said, very firmly.

“Well, your older sister rode over to the Highlands on the back of a classic 1950s Vincent motorcycle last week,” I quipped, “And I don’t know about you, but I’d feel safer on four big wheels.”

The rest of my former crew have grown up and moved on. It’s now time for me to do the same. Been there, done that and wrote the book

Ceasefire and peace returned. I’ve since looked at the Unimog, which was fatal. It’s far from pretty in ex-German army green, so in fairness to Mrs P, I’d have to have it resprayed, maybe in peacekeeping UN white. Rather than financing with the World Bank, I’d sell the Tom Rolt, the narrowboat, which I haven’t used since friend, agronomist and crew member Gerry Bird died 10 years ago last Friday.

The rest of my former crew have grown up and moved on. It’s now time for me to do the same. Been there, done that and wrote the book. Maybe I’d get another auld book out of off-road camping.

The wet and windy May has made spraying difficult, but I’m up-to-date. The T2 on the wheat was Questar with 20l of Efficient N. I don’t think we’ve ever had spring barley look as well, so I put a good splash of Moddus on. I hope it looks as well from the combine cab.

With the beginning of harvest only seven weeks away, I won’t have a lot of time after that until late autumn for any sort of camping. Which was always a problem with the boat. If it blows up into a good harvest day I can’t be caught out on the boat, or, worse still, stuck up a mountain in Scotland. It’s less of a problem with the MX-5 – I just drop a cog and let her rip.