OCTOBER arrived yesterday, or perhaps it was the day before. I don’t mean the calendar month of October, but October weather, drizzle, falling in fine curtains up and down the valley. This morning, the view of the black hill opposite was still furred and the thick damp air clogged the nose. Annoyingly, it was not quite so wet that it demanded waterproofs—yet, without them, my Dickies boiler suit was clammy and wrapped around my legs like clingfilm.
I’d only been outside for 10 minutes, shovelling silage into the transport box on the rear of the tractor. The silage comes from a long round clamp, covered with black plastic, like, ‘it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place’.
