The lawn in the garden (as opposed to the fields of the same name) has certainly made up for the six weeks when it never grew at all.

Now, with the heat and rain, it’s like painting the Forth bridge; I’m hardly finished and it’s necessary to start all over again.

But lawn mowing is not a big deal really and I don’t actually dislike the task. I fly around on the Hustler, with its great-sounding Kawasaki V twin engine, perhaps waiting for the wind to drop for spraying or stale seedbeds to dry for sowing.

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Once that happens, I’m off in a flash, like our pair of Jack Russells when they hear a car crossing the grid. Nothing’s quicker from sleeping to 20km/h than a terrier on the chase.

Oilseed rape

The August-sown oilseed rape is really loving this weather too. With an absence of slugs (presumably a function of the drought) and little flea-beetle damage, it’s motoring ahead.

Could crops become too forward running into the winter? Possibly, but surely that’s the least of our worries as we have ways of dealing with that – as does nature.

I used Katamaran as a pre-emergence herbicide on some of the rape, so we’ll see how that goes, but I’ve always been in the rival camp of November-sprayed Astrokerb.

With that said, I’ve had to rely on Belkar to (successfully) take out cleavers and shepherd’s purse, which Astrokerb doesn’t control but Katamaran does. With the rape safely established, I’ve forward-sold about 40% of a conservative 2027 yield for what, I think, is a decent price of €500/t. It’s chiefly to capitalise on Trump’s distortion of the oil price. Speaking of commodity prices, I’d be happy if I could sell the aerated wheat for €250/t. It’s a benchmark which I’d love to get to. There’d be hope again, and boy do we need it.

Visit to vets

Billy, the fatter of the two Jack Russells, has an allergy that has left him itching like a gorilla. I brought him into the vets and she prescribed steroid tablets and a wash with a special shampoo for yeast dermatitis. The shampoo wasn’t in stock, but they’d have it the next day.

Now, the following morning was wet and we were doing maintenance jobs, such as grovelling under the seed drill, getting it ready for the off.

We also fitted the wide 900 tyres on the Fendt 718 ready for some shallow work with the new Horsch Terrano. And with the beans satisfactorily harvested, we blew down the very dusty combine.

So, it was a dirty morning’s work, and I was grubby, rough-looking and unshaven, and I’d ripped the Texas 821s.

A good wash

Anyhow, at lunch Mrs P enquired what I was up to. I nonchalantly said we were busy, but I’d still made the time to go to the vets to collect Billy’s shampoo.

“You didn’t go to Ballivor looking like that?” Mrs P asked me.

“Like what?” I indignantly questioned, thinking I was a great fellow for looking after Billy’s pharmaceutical needs.

“I certainly did,” I said and added, all innocently “Why, what’s wrong with me, do my colours clash?”

“No, but I bet the vet thought she should throw in a couple of extra bottles to give yourself a good scrub as well,” Ms P said.

“And didn’t you tell me that the nice young locum vet was getting married to a relative of yours. What’s she going to think?” I laughed it off. But Billy and I got a good scrub that night.

He’s fine, but I’m still scratching.