I went home this weekend. After three weeks away and one week at uni, I just needed to sleep in my own bed. There’s nothing quite like going downstairs of a Sunday morning to find breakfast on the table.. the simple things, you know, like watching time team or David Attenborough with mum and dad. I love university, and I love my friends here, but home is still home.

Yesterday, as per my brothers instructions (he once famously wrote, aged about 9, that our Sunday ritual was to eat roast beef and to take grandma for a drive) we went down to Amerton farm. It has been ages since we visited my childhood joy: as a kid I used to love it. Back then it was a working farm where you could watch cattle being milked, hens being fed etc, but the thing I loved most was the tractor in the field. It was an old Massey, rusting away in the rain, but I loved it when dad took me from my pram, and later my chair, and placed me onto the old seat.

Yesterday we went down to see how much it had changed. Of course, it has changed quite a bit: parts have expanded, others shrunk. The milking parlour is gone, and there is now a petting zoo. I didn’t expect to see the tractor.

But, after a delicious ice cream in the restraint, we went walking. Dad commented on how much it had changed. We went into a barn, and there it was.

With a lick of red paint it stood there, unmistakably. The old tractor. ‘Hello, old friend.” I thought, patting it’s bonnet.

Life is good.