Good and bad news tostart the New Year off

A red Limousin cross out of one of our suckler cows.

Daddy bull, who is peering through the gap in the gate between his yard and the main foldyard where the herd is, must be very proud indeed.

This arrival prompted John to contact our vet for an oral paste to protect the calves from rotovirus, which we have had trouble with in the past.

At one time we could get a vaccination for the cows before they calved to give their calf protection. But this year there has been none available. Or at least none that our vets could provide.

But the downside has been a dead calf that has needed one of our vets to deliver, as John is anxious now to save the cow. She did not look very comfortable at all prior to calving.

As the cow had bagged up John knew the birth was imminent, but nothing had happened.

Getting her into a crush he concluded from a smell emanating from the cow that the calf was probably already dead. The vet’s autopsy on the calf will inform us.

So good news and bad news. To lighten the mood we had several of our farming neighbours round for lunch.

They had been round the farm for a few drives at pheasants and ducks. Our mallards are a wary bunch.

Even though we feed them every day, they always take off as soon as either of us take their barley down to the pond. So the sight of half a dozen farmers with guns very quickly sounds alarm bells.

I think the morning was more in the nature of a farm walk than a driven shoot.

I had thought I was exceptionally well organised to feed them all. Individual apple pies cooked ahead.

Cauliflower cheese made up and in the freezer along with several other veg dishes Potatoes all peeled ready for roasting. Leg of lamb nestled in foil and tucked up in the oven.

Then I opened the boot of the car to retrieve some cans of beer I had bought for the men to refresh themselves with before lunch.

Melting into a soggy heap was the ice cream meringue bomb I had made for an alternative desert, had in another freezer, meant to bring up to the house and completely forgotten about.

Thinking quickly I rushed it into the kitchen ready to transfer to another container and attempt to refreeze and retrieve this disaster from the jaws of defeat. Or something like that.

Except all I succeeded in doing was to drop the whole thing on the kitchen floor, splattering myself with cream, meringue and defrosted raspberries which were to go alongside the dessert.

When John’s friends walked in it looked like I had been the victim of an organised shoot out, never mind the game birds.