The last straw

As smallholders we are often reliant of large scale farmers, or the militia, for advice, help, selling us stock, feed and if they like you, favours. Now we are lucky here at Rock HQ, surrounded by local militia who are keen to help. True, they are also keen to sell you sheep with no teeth, birds of indeterminate gender (they know they are cocks((the birds not the militia)) but sell them to wide eyed smallholders who exclaim beautiful plumage while sticking the never to lay eggs birds in the back of the almost 4x4's) and three legged cows with behaviour problems. In fact some are so keen to rip you off, but do it so well, you feel they have done you a favour as you part with your hard earned cash which they stuff under the mattress in case of a rainy day, say when the subsidy cheque doesn't arrive or the tax man finally discovers how much they sell to the likes of me for cash.

So today, on the usual run for straw to bed down our critters we found the straw that broke the camels back, or rather a greedy militia man who pushed his luck too far. Its a sign of how far we have progressed that we felt able to argue our case with the cloth capped miser, and then, true to farming in these parts we cut off our nose to spite our own faces in order to ensure that the new 2010 Land Rover parked on his drive was no longer subbed by Rock HQ. Usually we knock on the door and a nice lady answers, we hand over a drinking token in exchange for a set number of bales. It has gone up, but since the last cut it has been two bales for a blue token, four for a brown, it used to be five for a brown but costs are rising.

Today old woman junior answered and pulled his boots and cap on eager to make some easy money. As Tracey is with child, lugging bales is not her job, but usually the nice old lady, who is around 80, skips up the bale stack, chucks down the allocated amount and loads them in the vehicle. Today her son shuffled towards the barn, "How much a bale?" I enquired already knowing the answer, it will have gone up, its him, it always does when its him.

" OOOoooohhhhh" a sound like a wounded bull, "It will depend on how many you wants"

I point to Hazel "As many as we can get in there"

"You'll be wanting about 4 then, well it'll have to be £3 see, its me over heads, every things expensive these days."

"Thats 50p a bale more expensive than last week"

"Well every things going up"

"Not really, you cut that in the summer, your cost was fixed then"

He stopped and eyed me suspiciously, "You from the revenue?"

"No" I pointedly looked at the brand new car

"Well its different if you have fifty, then its £2.50"

"Well I'll have fifty if you deliver "I might as well have said if you chuck in your prize heifer, he laughed

"I don't deliver"

"No, so I buy fifty and leave them here"

"Cant do that"

"OK so whats today's price"

"£3"

"Why?"

Cos you ain't having fifty, its not fair on them that does"

"But I have fifty, more like a hundred and fifty over the year"

Well its my time, its Sunday, I ain't working" we both looked at his large digger and half full trailer in the yard, his dirty overalls and his mum shouting lunch was ready. "I could say we were shut!" we both looked at the sign saying open for straw, "Its the convenience see, £3."

The overwhelming desire to give him another couple of acres, no doubt small ones, passed as I looked at my collection of coins in my hand. He drooled as I picked out another £2 coin. "£3 or we could just leave it" he sneered.

"Yeah we'll leave it" I left him to the telling off from his mum.

We are having a bit of trouble getting more straw, but it looks like some will be here next week. £1.50 a bale. Delivered. Smallholders rule.