Spent quite a tiring day driving a tractor up and down the field using the wrong tool (a “Canadienne”) to try and prepare the ground for some maize we want to plant this spring for next winter’s animal food; with a bit of sand filter work, hole digging and tree felling thrown in for good measure; and a short pause for a fairly healthy lunch in the sun.

But that’s not why I’m putting keys to screen. It’s because…

Just after lunch, I went to a nearby garage to buy some red diesel for the tractor. It’s not a garage I go to much – perhaps twice in three years. I filled the jerry can, told the guy the price (it’s one of those old-fashioned whirring dial things) and offered my debit card. Oh no, he says. Cash or cheque only.

Ah, says I. I’ll have to go to the cash machine. Shall I leave the car?

No, he says. Take the car.

OK, I say. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

And I was.

I’d make a rubbish criminal.