Desperate Farmhusband: ‘it’s hard to feel productive at this time of year'

It feels like Groundhog Day. Each day seems the same.

I wake up to the sound of the clock radio at 8am. I know – I’m having a bit of a lie-in lately, but there’s just no point in getting up until there’s a bit of daylight. I always try to wake up when sun comes up. It’s my farm body clock. Then, its out to feed the weanlings first. They are very demanding – they need their cereal first thing or you will never hear the end of it. They just can’t get enough of their Captain Crunch.

Next, it’s time to check on the cows. They are usually lounging around and chewing their cud when I pop my head in. They are so relaxed, it kind of makes you wonder who is working for who? I almost feel bad when I have to disturb them.

They’re like a bunch of moody teenagers when I gently ask them to move their arses. Their excrement – to use the polite term – has to be scraped away and moved to the slurry lagoon. For this, I use my trusty Massy165. This tractor is basically the same age as me, but has seen a lot more crap in its lifetime (and that’s saying something).

Once the yard is scraped, it’s on to the main event: shoving in some fresh silage. The cows are such picky eaters; they remind me of my own kids. With each bite they eat, they shove out the bits they don’t want. Lately, I’ve started adding Himalayan salt to their food for a bit of seasoning. I was told the salt would stop them from drinking other cows’ wee. The diet of a cow just baffles me. You’d think having four stomachs they’d be a bit more sophisticated.

After the silage is pushed in and all the cows are munching away, it's time for my own lunch. Nothing is more satisfying than coming in from the cold to a warm house with some nice, hot food on the table. A lovely soup; a sumptuous omelette; the smell of scones coming out of the oven. There’s nothing better.

I don’t generally do New Year’s resolutions, but maybe – just maybe – I should learn how to cook

The last few weeks, with the Christmas holidays followed by the wintry weather, have been great. But all good things must come to an end. Herself is back to work and kids are off to school and, as for myself, I’m back to boiling an egg and smashing it onto some burnt toast.

I don’t generally do New Year’s resolutions, but maybe – just maybe – I should learn how to cook. I don’t know how I’ve survived up until now – it’s just been pure luck. I was always spoiled when it came to being fed. Growing up, it was my grandmother or my mother’s cooking, and now it’s mainly my poor, long-suffering wife feeding me. I could never compete with their delicious and full-flavoured food.

I have made attempts in the past, but each failure makes me wonder: was I put on this earth just to eat – like the cows outside? At least the cows provide us with milk. I should probably do a bit more around the house.

At this time of year, though, it’s hard to feel productive. You get most of the farm jobs done by midday and then you’re just doing a few bits throughout the afternoon. The yard is clean; the sheds are ready for calving. Machines are maintained. There are still jobs that need doing in preparation for calving, but for the most part we are in good shape.

That said, every year I try to get ahead of things only to inevitably fall into a trap of procrastination. I also drop off in my fitness – I don’t have my usual “cardio” work-out in the milking parlour with the cows dried off, and I haven’t replaced it with anything.

I have looked into gyms but honestly, they seem pointless to me. You go in and there’s always some monster grunting and hoofing; lifting weights that should only be lifted by a forklift. Why do people in gyms all seem so miserable? Is it because they yearn to do proper physical work?

There are only so many times you can do an ab curl or squat before you realise you are making no difference to society. At least when I do an ab curl to lift a tyre off the silage pit, the result is going to feed a cow which will, in turn, produce the milk these lads drink in their protein shakes.

Maybe I’ll just leave the New Year’s resolutions for another year. I don’t mind the burnt toast that much.

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