The Farming Ladder - Can we build it? Yes we can!

Caught in the head lights, wide eyed and ready to receive ....

2012-01-20T19:45:00.000Z

October 29th. Michael Blanche’s last stand. 12 minutes in front of a lot of people. The crescendo of the Nuffield Experience. His only weapon ... the use of the “eeeemmmm” word.

No one was harmed during the filming of this video but a proportion of the audience did have to receive medical assistance with the aid of a defibrillator. Doctors blamed the intensity of boredom the individuals had to endure, slowing pulses to a point the heart loses the will to live. Click on the link, go on, I dare you! Nuffield Conference Farewell

What a Brain Vomiting all over a Microsoft Word Document Looks Like ....

2012-01-13T14:03:00.000Z

To say I got “quite into” my Nuffield experience is suppressing the true concerning fact that I got far too obsessed with things. But a side effect of this was I did try really, really hard.

This is perhaps reflected best in my Nuffield Report. It was meant to be 20 pages long, I wrote 65. It was interminable but was a bit like an exorcism for me. My brain was so full of thoughts it needed to get them out.

I feel better now.

Someone told me I’d regret incorporating Miley Cyrus lyrics into it. Maybe one day, but pathetically I revel in being the first Nuffield Scholar to do this and to have a discography in their report.

If you’re bored .... http://www.nuffieldinternational.org/rep_pdf/1319960983Michael_Blanche_edited_report3.pdf

The Obe Wan Kenobe of Sub-divisional Grazing ....

2012-01-06T23:18:00.000Z

I wrote a post way back in July 2010 called The Yoda of the Ryegrass Plant. It was about a man in the Waikato who opened a whole new room in agriculture for me .... grass (I now always feel obliged to follow this word with the sound “phooaaarrr” then an exclamation mark ... !).

Its struck me since in my delusional brain that life is a lot like Star Wars (though perhaps not the prequels). Feeling “The Force” is symbolic of wisdom, knowledge, the grasping of internal strength. The Dark Side could always do with more recruits - I should know, I’ve been headhunted a couple of times. Wise men, teachers, like Yoda and Obe Wan come and go from your day to day life. Sometimes you don’t realise unless they are green with pointy ears or have a cool cloak and a light sabre but they do come to all of us.

And so it was that the most disorganised man of Nuffield 2010 “organised” a trip to France in June to see a man who came highly recommended by a Kiwi grass nut. The Fabulous Four were me and the three grazing gurus of my Nuffield group - Rhys Williams, Kevin Beaty and Malcolm Edward Fewster (known by either forename and indeed other names).

It was a 4 day road trip from Brittany to the Mediterranean via the Pyrenees in the company of John Bailey - an Irishman by birth, naturalised Frenchman, New Zealander by training and attitude. We saw subdivisional grazing systems of all types - paddock, cell, techno, rational. Dairy, beef, sheep. I learnt so much from those on that trip. I’ve kept in contact with John/Obe Wan and he is coming over in 10 days to give me advice on setting up the ultimate grazing system (any more details and I’ll spoil another story).

The real John Bailey

I read a book recently - Knowledge Rich Ranching by Allan Nation. Nation says that to progress from little to a lot you need what he calls an “Unreasonable Advantage” - an idea, an innovation, a practice, something that separates you from normal practice. Something that adds significantly to your profit. The Unreasonable Advantage should be the Holy Grail for all first generation farmers. I think I’ve found my Holy Grail. Subdivisional grazing, managed right, means twice the production and half the cost per hectare for a beef or sheep operation. I’m convinced of it. I just have to implement it.

Obviously - the Holy Grail, France and me being a bit clueless? That can only mean ...

2012 To Do List: Item No 273 - finish this blog ....

2012-01-05T23:55:00.001Z

I left you last still on my UK road trip. The legend that is David Sullivan. Though that post was written in September, the visit was in June. Having seemed to have bionic blogging powers (strictly measured by quantitative outcomes not qualitative ones obviously), I hit the blog buffers in June and never blogging recovered. For some reason the drive to write deserted me. Now 3 months after my last post and 6 months after the last recorded incident, I come back to tie the loose ends and move on.

A story has to have a beginning, middle and end. That’s bothered me - if no one else - so I’m going to do three more posts after this, then say a proper goodbye. OK it might be four posts but it will definitely be no more than twenty.

I entered a Farmers Weekly column “contest” in September. Although I made it to the short list of six, I didn’t make it all the way. Weirdly, though I was chuffed at this result, it made me lose confidence in writing so apologies for the posts that follow. I’m just going to grit my teeth, hold my breath and get it over with - feel free to bale out at any time.

The Good Shepherd ...

2011-09-06T20:32:00.000+01:00

It’s been a while but I better finish what I started.

Before I left for Norfolk I had actually given Tim a rest from my dull chat in order to go and see David Sullivan. David has been - for a few years now - this mythological figure in my brain. John Vipond, SAC’s sheep specialist, credited him for a lot for ideas and even in my mock Nuffield interview it was suggested that I should go and see the guy.

David lives in Hampshire surrounded by pretty thatched cottages. He owns his house but has never owned any other piece of land. His view is that no one really “owns” land they just own a piece of paper that says they own it. He has never wanted to own land ... just farm it.

He 70 years old and has a tangible gentleness to him. It is the first visit in 15 months of my Nuffield Scholarship where we say grace before we eat. He and his wife were childhood sweet hearts and there was never going to be anyone else for either of them.

David and Eileen Sullivan

With the exception of “Hello”, the first words David said to me were “There are no problems, only solutions”. This appears to be the definition of how he has lived his farming life.

Brought up in the town, his father arranged for a local farmer to give him horrible jobs as a child with the instructions “knock it out of him”. This was in reference to David’s obsession with farming. It didn’t work.

He was a shepherd and manger until he was 38 and had a further 6 years managing the farm of a philanthropic gentleman. In these six years, working in unison, they moved toward a share farming system. The agreement was he could build up 25% of the flock in his ownership. The owner would have allowed him more but this level was what David deemed fair. Integrity is everything for David Sullivan.

The next step was to expand. He asked his local landlord if he could rent some land. The landlord said no. Importantly David asked him “why not?”. The issue was security of tenure. David went away to find a solution to his limiting factor. If the landlord owned half the stock then security of tenure was not an issue. Over the next few years, David developed the share farming concept on his own, without realizing there were similar agreements elsewhere in the world. He created a local sub culture, with his original landlord’s neighbours joining in. He had land and stock coming out his ears. He had approaches from the City, as he was achieving 25% return on capital for his investors.

Without doubt he created his own opportunities. In doing so he placed significant importance on his natural way with people. He is a character, he does things differently and has a great sense of humour. He saw it as vital, whilst marketing yourself to gain opportunity, to “have a bit of style”, to do things differently with humour and to tell a story.

David was the first to develop share farming in the UK, the first to May lamb and the first to drift lamb. He was an innovator as well as a character. He had really testing times but saved himself by his history of integrity and his determination to find solutions.

Messing About on Salisbury Plain ...

2011-06-20T22:34:00.001+01:00

Its tricky writing about Tim White. He is a follower of this blog, a great supporter and leaves rude comments whenever he feels aggrieved enough. He is the closest thing to me I know on the farming ladder ... obsessed by sheep, has a love-hate relationship with Wiltshire Horns, seasonal lets only, started with little. Just he’s a bit more professional and focused. One of the driving forces behind Sheep Improved Genetics Ltd, he’s breeding wool shedding sheep in cooperation with other large sheep producers, recording everything, developing genetics, selling well.

I arrive just in time for music night in Maiden Bradley’s only pub. People come from miles around to sing songs I’ve never heard. Tim is on banjo and I’m on Guiness Extra Cold. Everyone is really good. I once played the guitar and made people sing along on the understanding they had to pause for a while as I performed the tricky feet of changing chords. I don’t think I’d have fitted in playing the first verse of Leaving on a Jet Plane over a 15 minute period.

Over the next couple of days I see Tim’s sheep. A lot of them are on Salisbury Plain. Its poor stuff with no fences and a few tanks. “Fields” all have to be electric fenced. It strikes me the few first generation sheep farmers in this country might have good ideas and breed decent sheep but the system is such that we have to take the stuff no one else wants. Tim has some good grass too but still has to be off it at short notice if the landlord needs use of it. Enthusiasm and passion are his greatest tools.

Wool shedding hoggs with their lambs - I was jealous

There is an open day on wool shedding sheep that Tim is hosting. EBLEX are involved and I am reminded that I wish they did Scotland too. I talk to Liz Genever about grass. She is behind the Grass Watch initiative and is developing really good information for sheep and beef producers, centering on rotational grazing. I get so excited about it I start rubbing my thighs like Vic Reeves ... Liz retreats quite quickly at this point, but never turns her back. I do manage to tell her about Cambodia ... everyone has to know - its compulsory.

"My lambs are this big at 8 weeks" Tim White converts more unbelievers

I leave Tim and his lovely family. I wonder what the answer is. A progressive shepherd with so much passion for his trade. Where is the next rung for him? I have seen a lot, observed a lot, written a lot ... but what advice can I offer Tim? It comes as a shock to me that - after this long journey of discovery that with the report deadline just over a month away - I don’t have anything juicy to give him ... I don’t have the answer. People like Tim deserve a break, an opportunity. I squeeze into the camp hire car more sheepish than wolfish. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for as I let go of the handbrake and head for Norfolk.

Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy ....

2011-06-17T16:29:00.001+01:00

June 6th, 7.30pm. Foothills of Snowdon. Rona has told Arwyn Owen we are coming to stay. Arwyn has little choice but to comply. He shows off his batchelor cooking skills using not one but two microwaves simultaneously to produce a high quality sausage and baked potato delight.

Arwyn, too, is a Nuffield Scholar and a more gentle gentleman you will never meet. He comes across as profoundly content. It is a good lesson in the reality of my “let’s farm without subsidy” theory. His hill farm has 2000 ewes that produce a gross margin per ewe in single digits. Profit relies fully on environmental schemes and direct subsidy. Going forward there is the tantalising promise of renewable energy income. Yet if Prime Minister Blanche withdrew payments, Arwyn’s farm wouldn’t exist and my conscience would find that hard to deal with. In the hills of North Wales subsidy is truly support.

Rona has also told Marnie Dobson from Cheshire - yet another Nuffield Scholar - that we were coming for lunch on Tuesday. I take full advantage and devour a sandwich of goat sausage ... yum. We see some goats ... they are like a charismatic version of sheep. Niche products scare me as they require a whole new skill set ... like talking to people.

I provide two big hugs, make my apologies and leave Rona and Marnie to talk direct marketing. I am a lone wolf again, pounding the tarmac in my camp car clothing. I head for Wiltshire, home of the Horn and a beatnik shepherd who did a deal with the devil and now has amazing banjo playing powers. Its a long way but as the brightness of the sun comes and goes I sing along to the best road trip song ever (best served loud) ...

"We may lose or we may win/ but we will never be here again /so open up I'm climbing in" ... genius

The Unpronounceable Lightness of Being ...

2011-06-13T23:48:00.005+01:00

June 6th, 1:25 am. I finally get to bed. Its been a bit of a panic, getting everything done (or rather getting most things done and leaving the rest to the disappointed still-to-do-list of missed targets and spurned hope).

But in a few hours the adventure begins again. Its the UK Nuffield tour with recent additional dates added (essentially due to getting my act together at the last minute). I lie awake knowing I should be asleep. The more I think about it, the further away from sleep I get. Its probably 2:30 before I slip out of consciousness.

June 6th, 3:20 am. The alarm sounds. I feel like a dairy farmer ... getting up in the middle of the night with an actual purpose and things to do. I slip into the very small, effeminately coloured hire car and turn the key. Vrooom, vrooom. The full beastliness of the 1.1 litre engine pierces the silence .... eventually I realise I need to disengage the handbrake. Here we go.

June 6th, 9.10am. Arrive Chester Sainsburys as ordered by my new wing(wo)man Rona Amiss. Meet Rona, say hi to her nice friend, wolf down some fatty food and caffine, visit toilets, then me and Rona wait in two completely different areas of the car park for each other. After a reasonable period of time we eventually meet up and head west.

I have a fondness for North Wales - I bought my first sheep in Anglesey; it was the location of a legendary college “canoeing” trip; had a couple of good friends from there; one SAC visit made me start the farm business and of course The Alarm are North Walians ... quality. But it is another country inhabited by another people, that speak another tongue, one I simply cannot get a grip of. width="425" height="349src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/t0EX6xY8aig" frameborder="0" >

"If a man can't change the world these days, I still believe a man can change his own destiny" ... wise words from The Alarm

Rhys Williams farms on the Lleyn Peninsular and is a proper Nuffield Scholar. He has twice the number of dairy cows as I have sheep. He is self made. He is one of the sharpest tools in the box [NB not saying he is a tool but am saying he is sharp]. When we were all together in Washington he came out with more wise comments about business in 7 days than I could hope to do in my lifetime.

We heard his story: how his father had 10 acres and worked for the NFU, how Rhys had worked on farms, then joined DEFRA, then share milked in New Zealand for three years, then came home after a chance meeting with a progressive local landowner. This pathway has taken him to having a half share in 1400 cows at the age of 36 and with a business that - joining the dots - must be one of the most profitable I’ve come across.

Rhys, a bloke trying to kiss Rhys and some shiny cows

He is focused on the essentials - grass, cows, people. The system he runs is very simple in its operation but that seems the result of a lot thought. A day a week is assigned to grass measurement and management [see more on my grass nerdy blog], such is the importance of the green stuff to his profit.

He is an agricultural money making machine and should really be listed on the FTSE 100. He is a bloke you’d want to invest in - and his landlord has - to their mutual benefit. It strikes me he ticks most of the boxes of all the variables involved in the mathematical equation of progression up the farming ladder - he acquired all the skills and is now definitely top 5%; he developed the contacts; he has proved himself a very good investment and generated his own capital as a result; he concentrated on the essentials and ignored the irrelevant; he has been bold and had the courage of his convictions; he innovated and implemented a system that most local worthies would have shaken their heads at. But it all worked.

We say farewell and travel back to the hills. When you meet someone like Rhys its easy to be hard on yourself ... why aren’t you doing that well?; why aren’t you doing this?; why aren’t you doing that?. Its been a long road but I now realise that I am me and people like Rhys are people like Rhys ... and that’s OK!

Its a sad, sad situation ....

2011-05-13T20:48:00.000+01:00

I confessed back in March 2009 that I wanted to apply for a Nuffield Scholarship. The confession was to a very focused, previous Nuffield Scholar.

“What do you want to study” said the slightly intimidating Nuffield Board member.

“I thought something on grass” replied the very intimidated clueless Michael Blanche

“Yeah? The interviewers really look for interesting studies ... you need to think again.”

I did think again. I chose to look at the Farming Ladder instead. Yet actually my study has gone full circle. To climb the Farming Ladder I have to aim to be in the top 5% of producers. To do that, having a ruminant enterprise, I think I have to move significantly forward in my grassland management.

Hopefully I’m off to France to look at intensive grazing systems including Techno Grazing at the end of June. In the meantime, I am starting a cell grazing trial and obviously this demands a separate blog devoted my mistakes in this regard. It is definitely “specialist interest” but if you want to feel more interesting by indulging in just how dull someone else can be try the new grazing blog.

I managed to get some assistance from Rappa Fencing for the trial so I am a bit chuffed with myself ... it will never last!

Embarrassing bodies ...

2011-04-24T22:49:00.001+01:00

Weird, Pseudo-Scientist Michael Blanche (25) has made yet another genetic breakthrough. Based on years of slap dash research and lazy development, the innovation means a step change in carcass value of sheep meat by providing six legs per lamb:

You should be able to count 6 legs ... only 4 work

Commenting on the biggest revolution in sheep genetics since Dolly, Professor Blanche said, “I was sick in my mouth when I saw it ... its gross. At least its alive ... makes a nice change.”

Zack Dingle Rides Again ...

2011-04-13T21:23:00.000+01:00

A Multiple Choice Paper recently completed by Michael Blanche:

Qu. 1. Both your cars die in the same week ... both will cost £2,000 each to fix ... you have less than that in the bank ... its 3 weeks before lambing and you have 750 sheep to shift off your old grazings. Do you:

a) Adapt

b) Innovate

c) Overcome

Answer - Adapt. Buy a van for £700. Immediately acquire the nickname Zak Dingle from your neighbours. Order a shiny red Hilux on contract hire which you probably can’t afford but as it takes 4 months to arrive the cool thing is you don’t have to think about it yet.

The Van ... hardcore!

Qu. 2. You have purchased this “totally awesome” auto-drafter and have lots of stuff on a computer thingy relating to each sheep’s EID number. If you don’t manage to link the ewe to her lambs, half the point of recording for genetic gain is lost. You have always numbered your sheep before lambing with spray paint which by the time they lamb you can never read. You get tired very easily and catching ewes, outside is beyond you. Do you:

a) Adapt

b) Innovate

c) Overcome

Answer - Innovate. Copy Lynton Arney - the nice man with the nice Border Leicesters from Oz - and make up neck tags using hi-viz tags and bungee cord that you can use next year too. Be too concerned about choking sheep and make cord far too long. Go round picking most of tags up that fell off as soon as sheep stooped to graze.

If you look closely enough you might see a tag round its neck

Qu. 3. You are desperate for grass and you get 180 acres of this:

Spot the ryegrass plant competition

Do you:

a) Adapt

b) Innovate

c) Overcome

Answer - I have no idea. I’ll get back to you.

Pride Lost, Navel Found ....

2011-04-01T17:08:00.004+01:00

London is exciting. Mainly because, if I’m in it ... I am usually in it for a reason ... on purpose ... and not by mistake or due to taking a wrong turn.

This time it was The Farming Ladder conference. Organised by Sir Don Curry and Dennis Chamberlain. It had the same title as my Nuffield study and meant I felt obliged to go.

I think this sort of conference helps and there were some really good speakers. This said, I came away feeling a bit empty. A previous scholar told me at a get-together last year to “be selfish” in my study ... I’d get far more out of it. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to help and come up with suggestions and potential answers. Now I realise that there are plenty of suggestions, lots of ideas and a good number of potential answers ... its just that very few of them will actually make it all the way to practical policy. Taxation changes are sorely needed. Agricultural Holdings legislation could do with being reformed or even repealed ... with more imaginative options introduced. The subsidy system protects the established and punishes the new.

Yet the conference convinced me that the only person in the room that was going to help me ... was me. The historic battle between landlord and tenant rumbles on, each taking a stance the other can’t accept. George Dunn from the TFA was really impressive, a very clear thinker and excellent communicator. I wish he was on my side ... but he’s not. He started off by saying it was vital that the calibre of entrants into farming had to be high .... hear, hear! Then he proceeded to put forward the assertion that succession tenancies - where the only test of your calibre is who your father was - were the BEST farming ladder ... were THE farming ladder.

Succession is the key to the farming ladder! [cue sigh of exasperation] .... And so the land constipation of this country will continue to cause discomfort.

Trying to draw parallels with diarrhoea prevention and interventionist legislation ... probably stretching it

If the tenants were the Imodium with a high level of intervention in the letting process ... the landlords seemed to take the more prune juice approach of the free market. Freedom of contract rules OK! I sympathise with this attitude far more. Yet it dramatically depends on trust. Trust hasn’t been prolifically used in this ancient struggle. Also, and crucially, freedom of contract tends to put off the issue of investment to another day ... ad infinitum. When tax incentives were discussed and it was suggested that certain loop holes be closed ... some landlords got a bit edgy. “Lets have a system that suits us” was the message my cynical ears heard.

Essentially, it was a conference where vested interests were vocalised ... albeit lined with good intentions. It is useful to talk and outline your position ... jaw jaw rather than war war, and all that.

What struck me, though, was that before legislation ... before policy ... attitudes need to change ... paradoxical cultures need to develop and recede. The conference was helpful in chipping away at this. But as we talk, we are also part of a huge orchestra of fiddles ... we play intently ... as Rome burns. The bastions of the past will be the bastions of the future. UK agriculture ... its quality ... its merit ... its pride is being suffocated by short term views, short term greed and an inability to see beyond our own, very personal, navels.

Nero "fiddling" while Rome burnt ... I always thought it was a violin

Going round the world - where no one looks to the UK for agricultural guidance - is a humbling process. No one rates us! This is the country of Townsend and Bakewell ... this is the country that was the stud farm to the world ... this is the country that invented the tractor, the plough and the threshing machine. We have been distracted by chasing subsidy ... where a meeting on a new support scheme attracts an audience of 200, whilst a technical seminar gets an audience of 10. We are disabled by our historic struggle for the control of land. We now think in individualistic terms ... our farm business ... our land owning business. We only think of "our industry" when it comes to supporting it with payments with other peoples money. All the lobbying ... all the talk ... is to do with subsidy, intervention and regulation. We don’t seem to have a communal pride in our real industry anymore and we no longer judge it on production or on innovation.

Bakewell ... in my Top 20 Hero List

A perfect storm is brewing. Food is going to be a big issue in 2030 ... and big business. In the UK we'll probably still be talking at conferences, fearful someone else might benefit slightly more than us ... whilst the rest of the world have left us behind. We were once a world leader in production, we had an industry to be proud of in a worldwide context. Unless we think ... and, more importantly, act ... to free land up, to make an industry that is merit based, where the best farmers farm - whoever their father was ... we will never have that pride again.

Like a Virgin ...

2011-03-30T23:15:00.000+01:00

“My name’s Michael, thanks for coming .... you know you guys will always be special to me [cue slight unease in small group of complete strangers, straight off a mini bus from Aberdeenshire] .... I was a farm visit virgin ... and I’ve lost my virginity to you ... [cue unintentional but creepy smile from Michael].”

Some things sound a lot better in your head before departing from your brain, stopping briefly at your vocal cords then finding their final destination in a vast lonely expanse of open air and in the tangible discomfort of fellow human beings.

It was the first time I had a group come and see the sheep though. I spent most of the time saying they weren't very good, even though I think they are. I talked for over an hour about the sheep, how I started, what I do, what I feel and about the people I met during my Nuffield trips. The Nuffield part of it might have been forty minutes of blether but it had to summarise eight and a half weeks of travel. It focuses your mind on what the main issues have been. Obviously, I admitted in front of grown men (and women) that I almost cried speaking to other grown men (and women) about Cambodia. I then proceeded to get a bit emotional about it all over again. That country gets me going every time.

No one fell asleep this time. Largely because they all had to stand ... in the cold ...

Notes to Self:

Pursue mild forms of enforced discomfort on any future audiences to prevent them snoring
Man up re. Cambodia, for goodness sake!!

The Free Radical ...

2011-03-22T18:29:00.001Z

Last Monday lunchtime. Hendersons Salad Bar, Hanover Street, Edinburgh.

I am here to meet a real, live author ... one that writes books an’ that using actual words, some of which exceed my psychological barrier of 10 letters.

I bought Andy Wightman’s book “Who Owns Scotland” in 1996, when I was still a Land Agent. It pointed out an injustice of so much of this country being owned by so few of its inhabitants. As a Land Agent, I acted mainly for land owners and companies with amazing powers of compulsory purchase. Most of my clients were lovely, good people but there was always a feeling that I was playing for the wrong side. I worked hard in training, at the end of the day I gave it 110%, without a shadow of a doubt ... but I took their money to help them make more of what they already had ... and there was always a slight guilt to it.

Andy Wightman - author who knows some big words

Andy seems far more principled. Injustice seems his defining motivation. He has been described as Scotland’s leading Land Reform activist. There is a twinkle in his eye when he describes situations where he has publicly pointed out an inequity and an unfairness. He seems to do this with a clarity that reveals something obviously unjust to those blinded by either the complexity and confusion of the subject matter or burdened by vested interest and extreme passion for their own position.

Anyway, back to the Salad Bar. Andy orders the biggest “croquet” I have ever seen ... in my mind the rules on croquets centre on the assumption that a proper one can’t be more than 5 cm long ... this one smashes this rule by at least two fold. I have a big crepe ... (a joke I really enjoyed when I was 8 and still find amusing today).

I had bought Andy’s new book “The Poor had no Lawyers”. I had got to page 42 by Monday and - in a panic, not wanting to appear ignorant - also read half a chapter on subsidy. The book sits in the bathroom where I can read it during my “quiet times” ... I quickly realise I should have had more “quiet times” before I met him.

We talk about inheritance. There should be a law that land is transfered equally to all children in a family, not just one. Land would then be in the hands of more people and the land monopoly we have would be broken. We talk about Land Value Tax. This would introduce a basic fairness to taxation and eliminate the excessive values of land and homes - that sees loss-making dairy farms in the west of Scotland selling for over £1 million. Why should all rural businesses pay business rates other than landowners? Andy tells of a method of redistribution of land in the Netherlands where a group of owners who feel their land holding is becoming fragmented put their satellite units into a pot and swap them for somewhere nearer ... the fact this would not happen here, says a huge amount about the land culture we live in.

I enjoy our chat ... and my big crepe. I notice Andy has a freedom in his opinions. He doesn’t mind challenging perceived “wisdom” on land issues and the aggressive negativity that sometimes comes with such a challenge. Rather he seems to revel in it. As we leave he talks of some gifted individuals ... who can’t express what they really feel because they are employed by companies with vested interests. I realise I’m in a privileged position ... as my own boss, I have a certain freedom already ... even amongst the constant craving for cash, it is this overarching freedom that makes it worthwhile.

Back at the house, I read more of the book. It has some really interesting stuff in it. The history of how land was effectively stolen, grabbed or taken. How tenanted farms represented 69% of holdings in 1940 and 28% of holdings in 2008. How 20% of the Single Farm Payment in Scotland is recieved by just 2.77% of farmers ... almost a third of the budget being given to just over 5%. He quotes Winston Churchill and Adam Smith to support his case.

It makes me think ... I seem to have been buffeted by divergent and very strong opinions all the way through this Nuffield study ... I bend with this wind, listen to everyone and see all the points of view. Quite often it seems, I don’t have my own voice ... or maybe its having a fear to let it make a noise. It would be easier if it were black and white ... if people were entirely wrong or entirely right. Andy appears to use justice as a benchmark and fairness as a gauge ... that’s not a bad start on the long and winding road toward clarity.

Dying is Easy, Public Speaking is Hard ...

2011-03-13T22:29:00.000Z

Despite what the most recent blog posts suggest, I’ve been back in the country for a month ... I’m just really slow at constructing sentences and thinking about words containing more than four letters. My brain speed seems to be constantly in first in the low ratio gearbox (or whatever that smaller stick next to the bigger stick in my pickup is called).

Imagine then, my discomfort when I had to speak at a Scottish Enterprise Rural Networking Event in Ayr on Tuesday. Talking out loud has never been a strength of mine. Putting a lot of words together in the right order over a 30 minute period is hard ... and harder still when 24 people are looking at me with total bewilderment in their eyes and 1 is fast asleep. Talking in public requires a fast and sharp brain ... no luck there then.

I got a few laughs but not nearly as many as I'd hoped ... I should have brought a snare drum and symbol to communicate what I just said was intended to be amusing.

Embarrassing highlights included: reading out lyrics from a Mylie Cyrus song (the bewilderment factor was raised at least three notches during that error of judgement) and almost crying when I talked about Cambodia ... voice quiver ... dramatic pause ... it was really close. I talked about emotion a lot, and bared my soul a little ... to the point I expect most of the audience were uncomfortable and thinking I should really go and see Dr Bonkers (the famed Psycho-analyst).

That said there were some things I said that had potential. It focused me. Oddly I appreciated so much more of what I had learnt in India and Cambodia during the process of speaking in Ayr. If I came back from those countries with one word it would be “Innovation” ... although this is neck and neck with “Perspective” and “Sorry”.

I still need a lot of practice in speaking out loud though .... a LOT of practice.

[in the style of the Batman theme] da na na na na na na na - Hat Man! ...

2011-03-04T12:52:00.002Z

In my last post I briefly mentioned a chance meeting with an elderly man who wore a hat ... on a plane ... who sang songs in public. I also mentioned that the Raipur leg was my nominal contribution to the organisation of the trip. The first day went well ... largely because Ricky Thaper organised it ... not me.

Day 2 proves more of a challenge. There is nothing arranged. In desperation to please my restless colleagues, I phone Hat Man on Day 1. He is in “a meeting” and says he’ll phone me back ... he doesn’t ... I berate myself for thinking he might. Next day ... a lie in, a relaxed breakfast, we get to 11.30 and no one has complained directly about doing nothing but there is an undeniable air of frustration. We try to take a rickshaw to a Walmart to see what an Indian supermarket looks like. The non-English speaking rickshaw driver reckons I must have meant the centre of town and takes a punt, leaving us lost in a busy street ... nowhere near a Walmart.

Just as all hope of not wandering around aimlessly is at an end ... Hat-Man phones. He has been to our hotel with his brother - head of the agricultural department of Chattisgarh. His brother has had to leave for a “meeting” but we head for his office. Raipur is a big city ... we are the only westerners ... as we start the goose chase, people stare, smile and wave. We enjoy our adventure ... at least, I do. I smile and wave and even do the “thumbs up” more than is technically cool, as we walk.

After asking at least five times for directions we get to the office. Hat Man is actually called Mr Poorit and he is high up in a renewable energy company (Tony likes renewables so he is pleased). Mr Poorit is a character. A former colonel in the Indian army, a veteran of three wars he possesses a personal wisdom that comes from a very full life. I love old men like Mr Poorit. He is excentric, mischievous and warm ... what I want to be when I’m old. I feel we click and have an odd bromance for 20 whole minutes.

Tony, me and Mr Poorit ... in the final of the "Funniest Face" competition.
Above Tony's head there is a picture. It says "... for everything you gain; you lose something else; it is about your outlook towards it; you can either regret ... or rejoice". Deep!

He tells us that Indians are misers, they are real business men and ... in a Borat type moment - they are “like the Jew”. Britishers are nice but they are not financially as bright as Indians. Mahatma Gandhi was a good guy but his policy of non-violence was wrong. If someone hits you, you hit them back harder. I loved it ... not because I agreed with everything but just because his opinions were definite and devoid of malice (though I suppose hitting people isn't that nice).

We finish by singing a Doris Day song in the middle of a busy office... “Que Sera, Sera, ...Whatever will be, will be ... The future's not ours, to see ... Que Sera, Sera ...” Given my midlife crisis and my palm reading that shows I have no life line from now on ... I consider this appropriate. We shake hands, knowing we got on well, but knowing we will never see each other again. I am emotional about our farewell, which I wasn’t expecting. Goodbye Mr Poorit ... the honour was all mine.

Intensive Care ....

2011-02-25T18:58:00.001Z

Delhi airport. Its Thursday.

We have said goodbye to James. We cry longingly on each others shoulders and seek professional advice for our combined loss. Obviously I am using sarcasm to cover up the fact that this is almost true.

After taking all the responsibility for so long as group leader, organiser and Michael Blanche’s chief carer, Tony gets a well earned rest. He has been immense. We had a tipsy chat in November. I said I was going to Cambodia and India. He said he’d like to come ... thereafter he organised almost everything. If it wasn’t for him I think I’d still be at Phnom Penh airport trying to work out how the electronic doors worked.

This was the part of the trip I “organised”. This basically involved asking Ricky Thaper (treasurer and spokesman for the Poultry Federation of India) to organise things for me. We meet Ricky ... he laughs at my jokes ... what a great guy!!

We fly to Raipur, capital of the state of Chattisgarh. I sit next to an elderly man with a hat. He sings a lot. I join in when I can. He insists we contact him during our visit. I am not sure if this is a terrorist trap.

The next day we visit the ABIS group. Owned by Mr Bahadur Ali, the business had 10,000 broiler chickens in 1985. Now it turns over 2.5 million birds per cycle and there are 7 cycles per year. It has quarter of a million breeding birds. He has a 2,500 dairy cow herd and 1,500 buffalo. He has a huge feed mill. He produces pet food, fish feed and 5,000 tonnes of solvent. The milk is packed and sold under his own label. 30 veterinarians work in the business ... everyone we meet is called “doctor”. The business has a 2,500 labour force.

The Group with one of the many Doctors and Ricky in the foreground

I’d seen vertical integration before but this seemed to also include horizontal, backwards, forwards and sideways integration too. You sensed there were no barriers in ambition or, indeed, implementation. There was no fear in growing the business. It was like going to visit the aftermath of a huge business explosion.

At the end of our day we meet the main man - Mr Bahadur Ali - he walks in and there is an aura about him. He is more comfortable speaking his native tongue ... which adds to the mystery. His questions are incisive and very focused. Weirdly, his questions are kind of answers in themselves as they seem to reveal what the important issues are on a particular subject.

He explains how he took his business from a humble beginning to one of the biggest agri-businesses in India. From 1985 to 1996 he built the business’s effectiveness. But growth was relatively slow. 1996 saw him attend the International Poultry Congress and that event seems to have transformed his whole business. His vision was radicalised ... to drive for scale and vertical integration. Thereafter, the growth graph was close to being as vertical as his integration. It rang a bell ... this was the graph a share milker in New Zealand drew me on the back of an envelope ... it was the graph a Kiwi equity partner now worth millions of dollars showed me on his computer ... the graph of an effective first generation business. Frustratingly slow growth then .... ker-bam (if that is a word) ... a steep line upwards thereafter.

The ABIS group operate - as far as I could work out - on just over 100 acres. I’ve seen intensive agricultural businesses before but this was another level. I know its not quite a true benchmark figure - they rely on other farmers for a lot of raw material and some of the enterprises are beyond agriculture - but the business’s Output ... my calculator tells me ... is over £1.5 million per acre!

The wonder of labour - everytime a calf defecated there was someone on hand to clear it up

Mr Ali asks us about the potential for a serious sheep business in India. I suddenly get a dose of verbal Delhi belly ... my words come straight from my head through my mouth without touching the sides. I thought it would be a great idea ... introduce better genetics ... get hold of lots of land ... rely on scale ... on and on I went ... it was becoming interminable. Mr Bahadar Ali asked what stocking rates we had in the UK for sheep. 4 ewes to the acre on decent permanent pasture, up to 7 on good stuff, I said ... I was unstoppable ... I thought he would be impressed. The colleagues from ABIS looked at each other, paused and then laughed for a long time ... 4 ewes per acre versus £1.5 million turnover per acre.

Being laughed at made me think. Land in Chattisgarh would be worth around £30,000 per acre. We don’t have values like that ... yet. However, if the land price in the UK continues on its crazy path ... I’ll probably live to see the day they are. We will still only have land that supports 4 ewes to the acre. Maybe the Indians were right ... it is comical. Intensification and integration are a lot more serious. They can feed the world. Taking this theory to its logical conclusion, maybe the sheep industry has no future on any land that can be used for any other conceivable purpose. Its a cheap land enterprise and cheap land may never be again. Maybe the entire UK sheep industry will be forced to retreat to the hills ... spending the rest of its days with its begging bowl held high.

Bright Colours, Broad Brush ....

2011-02-19T18:15:00.006Z

Taxi rank, Udaipur Airport, Rajasthan, India. Its Monday.

The established farmers want an air-con taxi ... the new entrants want to spend as little money as possible (especially the one (clue: not Rona) who has lost his wallet). We would prefer to spend £10 less and wind the windows down. The group splits: 3 to worship the air-con god with me and Rona on the budget deal. It slowly dawns on me that 1800 rupees divided by two is more than 2400 rupees divided by three .... bugger!

I smell smells in the warm air that rushes through my open window. Yet its the bright colours that have most impact. These colours are man made and worn by man but feel intrinsic to this land. Ladies with saris of vivid pinks, yellows and reds; men have turbans of equal brilliance.

The “established ones” laugh at us as they pass in their decadence ... then take amused pleasure in pointing out the aforementioned arithmetic when we arrive at Ranakpur two hours later. I go in a huff for a total of 3 whole minutes.

We are staying in tents ... but nice ones. Tony loses the drawing straws contest and has to endure my snoring ... yet again. We are met by Ilse (she is German) and Hanwant who run LPPS, an organisation that aims to preserve sheep pastoral and camel herding traditions and rights. They take us immediately to a sheep shearing “festival”. The shepherds are dressed up for the occasion. They chat, laugh and smoke as they part the wool, slowly and deliberately, from their sheep. This is not about economics but about brotherhood.

Smokin' Mike Blanche .... it was just tabacco ... I think

I tell them that I have 600 sheep and achieve a 150% lambing ... it is the first time anyone has been impressed with this .... I should come here more often. For a few moments I am the Shepherd God ... in my own mind.

The next morning we are taken to see camels and their herders. Hanwant honours us by presenting us with turbans from his Rajput (warrior) caste. He has not accounted for the fact I have a head so big, my neck could theoretically snap at any minute. It is so huge scientists have recognised that it possesses its own gravitational force and that tiny moons orbit round it. The Turban sits awkwardly well above my cranium’s full circumference.

The Rajasthani Massive ... Kevin doesn't have height issues ... he's just kneeling down

Again the herders are far less about money and far more about life ... about relationships with their animal charges and with each other. They give us camel milk, warmed as it would have been warmed a millennium ago. They proudly stuff Neem leaves up a camel’s rectum and then clamp the aforementioned orifice with a split stick. I wince as my imagination allows me to go through the logistics of how this procedure could be completed ... with me as the patient.

The clamping procedure - do not try this at home! Nice turban colours though.

In the afternoon we have a deep debate then go to a temple - Kevin provides the sound track with a full discography from Walt Disney’s Jungle Book. In the evening we visit Ilse and Hanwant for dinner. We see the camel poo paper being made and hear about the camel milk ice cream. They are innovating in order to preserve - rather than change - a way of life. We have yet another deep debate ... I'm starting to enjoy them in a masachistic kind of way.

In the morning I have time for one more huff before we leave ... I must be on my man period. I travelled Australia and New Zealand on my own. Here I have four strong and admirable characters with me. I learn much from all of them. They make me question things. Sometimes - in business terms - I feel far, far behind them. I think I am burdened to be like my fellow Rajasthani shepherds ... less about economics, more about brotherhood. I fear I will always be short of money as I give up any possibility of wealth as a sacrifice ... to my very own ... God of Dreams.

Camel milk actually tasted pretty good. Light and frothy ... mmm!

Either I've grown, or this is a small camel. The unfortunate head size to turban circumference ratio / matrix dilemma, can be seen clearly here.

Carry On Up the Punjab ....

2011-02-17T00:21:00.002Z

Somewhere near Chandigarh, Punjab, India. Its Saturday. The group now numbers five ... we’re not exactly famous but at least three of us have had lashings and lashings of ginger beer the night before.

We take a walk through Chandigarh centre to experience the shabby madness that seems to be standard in India’s urban centres. James gets his shoes polished. I do too. James pays his polisher the equivalent of 20 times the normal rate .... everyone gets very excited ... a rather large and amused crowd has now gathered ... its all I can do to convince my man 7.5 times the correct rate is acceptable. I power walk ... hips wiggling vigourously ... away from the problem.

The initiation of the shoe shine incident ... before the crowd gathered

We are picked up by the sophisticated Kanwal. Tony - our glorious leader - had found his farm stay on the internet. It turns out its like some sort of cyber gold rush ... the guy is brilliant. We visit two dairy farms, inspect wheat and vegetables. The Punjab is India’s Japati basket. 44% of the grains (rice and wheat) produced in India are produced here ... on 2 % of the country’s farm land. Bare agricultural land values range from £30,000 to £60,000 per acre ... hope value (for future development) has a massive impact that drives up price even further. The Green Belt around Chandigarh can command up to $500 million for 1 acre.

Land in Punjab was subject to severe legislation after independance. The maximum holding any individual could own was set at 25 acres. This together with subsequent splits via inheritance means farms are small (90% of farms in all of India are 5 acres or less) ... yet 3 crops of maize a year is easy in Punjab, one guy reckoned 4 was possible. The first dairy farmer we meet tells how his grandfather dug a well in 1947 and only needed to go to 10 feet; his father then dug a well in 1962 and had to go deeper - 62 feet; then he himself had to dig a well in 2010 ... to get to water he had to bore to 500 feet. Such is the challenge in the Punjab ... what the weather giveth, the weather (and extreme irrigation) now taketh away. The significant move to dairy ... away from thirsty rice ... is a reaction to this challenge.

We meet the head of the village and all his family ... he has a big family. We drink sugar lightly diluted with warm buffalo milk. We drink tap water. We are an attraction. A child comes in and as if in awe of a deity, swiftly kneels to touch Rona’s sandals then quickly departs.

The village leader and his family ... just after we'd drank tap water

We return to Kanwal’s house and meet his father. He is a serene Sikh gentleman with a warm sense of humour. We learn much just talking to the father and son team. From their reading of my palm, I learn that I have had a midlife crisis and the future is not foretold ... I consider this does not represent new information. I then worry that there is no life after the mid life crisis thing and keep looking at my palm in case the line has formed yet. They both get very excited by James’s hand, its so unusual I think they might wet themselves in some sort of synchronised urination display. He is nicknamed golden hands for at least ten minutes.

We giggle on and off for another 24 hours ... we have deep debates ... we learn many new things about India and each other ... until on our last night we up the giggle intensity ... I giggle like I haven’t giggled for a long, long time. My stomach hurts as I go to bed - its a happy hurt ... though it still could be the tap water.

The Dogs That Bark at Elephants ....

2011-02-16T23:55:00.000Z

Its not so much politics in Cambodia but rather power. Corruption is systemic and blatant ... so blatant there’s almost an honesty to it. Some said that at least it was obvious rather than in the western world where its duplicitous and subtle. Another theory I got was if there were a change of government there would be even more because those in power now are already very wealthy. Anyone new would have to build up wealth through yet more corruption.

There is a stability provided by the current administration, but sights like the many brand new Range Rovers driving through Phnom Penh, suggest there are hundreds wealthy as well as millions poor. This wealth is almost certainly not gleaned from moral business practice, built on compassion for their fellow man. A bloke down the pub (always the best sources) told me half the aid coming into the country is “lost” but could probably be found again in the shape of the flash cars driving around its capital city. These drivers scare me. They feel untouchable. One person explained that there is a saying that the people are dogs and the ruling class, elephants. Dogs might be able to bark at elephants but little else. Elephants are untouchable, undefeatable, unstoppable. Thoughts of political improvement for its population are burdened by a hopelessness that seems so absolute and so conspicuous.

You consider temporarily that maybe its not so bad ... in the west we seem so self righteous that our way is the best way ... maybe democracy is over-rated ... maybe there is freedom in an absence of regulation. Then you realise that there is no protection of people. There are few rights. The Economic Land Concessions in Cambodia that recently hit the headlines where 1 million hectares of land has been taken over by corporate firms is an example. Many who “own” land, don’t. The legal rights for land ownership are blurred in most instances. It seems the small farmer in these cases get money for their farms but it is a surreal compulsory purchase - money or AK-47 - that’s the choice.

Economic Land Concessions represent the sound of ideologies clashing. Cambodia can’t move on agriculturally without efficiencies in scale and technical expertise .... corporate farming is a quick fix ... the capitalist answer. But individual people should have rights to what they have ... they should be respected and cherished not bullied and stolen from ... profit of the few can’t in anyway excuse the immediate suffering of the many. There is a sadness and an intense injustice to it all.

In a land where over 70% of the population have an income of $2 a day or less whilst the ruling class drive around in £75,000 lumps of metal, concealed by blacked out windows ... you start thinking there must be a better alternative species to belong to than human beings.

Love You Long Time ...

2011-02-12T10:04:00.001Z

Bay of Bengal (get to India, turn right and its the first sea on the left (... and right)), 35,000 feet up. Its Friday.

We left Cambodia yesterday (travelling by bus through Thailand to Bangkok). As usual I am confused. I loved the country and its people. If I stop and think, I wonder whether it touched me more than I normally allow myself to be touched by land and strangers (that sounds a bit wrong, doesn’t it?)

I talked to a good number of locals about their past and their future; about their issues and their views. Its easy for a daft Scotsman with spectacles to make skewed judgements based on minimal research ... but I always try and take the easy option.

The agriculture is so labour intensive, its scary. Most will work from dusk till dawn in a body position that homosapiens are really only designed to be in for short periods. Time and effort are cheap here. There is so little money in it, success isn’t judged on profit or loss but malnutrition or health. The marvels of mechanisation ... of innovation ... of the power of the mind rather than simply the hands ... fall into a wondrous clarity in Cambodia. The examples are less complex, less forgotten and thus more compelling than in the UK.

You realise that breakthroughs in production methods are led by individuals for private gain ... yet whole communities and countries and continents benefit. Innovation grows from need ... desperation even. Innovation comes mostly from those with a contrasting rather than corresponding story to the traditional farming system. Innovation is a dish best served by the disadvantaged.

We travelled through Thailand yesterday in 30 degrees of heat and you sensed a coldness compared to Cambodia. There were far less smiles, a scarcity of laughter that I had become used to from the Khmer people. You realise how vital smiles and jokes are in communication when normal communication is difficult. I felt safe in Cambodia. Phnom Penh wasn’t intimidating and I’ve felt a lot more threatened in Edinburgh. British people seem angry compared to Cambodians, yet in comparison we don’t have much to be angry about.

Despite being effectively a dictatorship ... it feels more free ... there is a refreshing lack of regulation and restriction. Driving for example consists of buying a car, getting a family member to show you how to drive for a couple of hours, then off you go. You can get a licence but this seems optional. You drive on the right though this is definitely optional. The spatial awareness of how your bumper might interact with another moving object feels like it comes from a special gene in Khmers that has been highly developed under the strict principles of Darwinism. Back home (and even whilst away) I have just been through a prime example (SRDP grant applications) of how well meaning rules can become ever decreasing circles of restriction as they multiply and dig a deeper and deeper hole until you strike pettiness and stupidity (not that I’m sore about it, you understand).

Back in the UK we feel empowered ... in Cambodia they feel powerless. Our public’s opinion carries weight in the minds of our political leaders ... in Cambodia those in power treat their people lightly. Yet we are bound by regulation, rules and tied tight by bureaucracy. In Cambodia a public with no voice and no money still have a strange freedom about them.

Goodbye Cambodia, even though we might never meet again ... I will always be your friend.

Extreme First Generation Farming, Dude ...

2011-02-03T22:54:00.002Z

Koh Kong, Cambodia, 10 miles from Thai border. Wednesday.

We meet a Khmer man called Paddy ... not certain this is his real name! He runs a bar, has a tuk tuk, smiles alot and is a cool dude. He takes us to the river. We meet Noy. Noy is one more notch up on the cool dude numeric scale compared to Paddy ... which is saying something.

Noy speaks excellent English. He takes us to a tiny village 30 minutes up river. Each family has their farm of between 1 to 5 hectares. They grow melons, lemongrass, sugarcane, sandalwood and funny looking fruit that I don’t recognise.

The people live on very little here but the entrepreneurs amongst them harvest and sell their excess produce in Koh Kong market.

There is one in particular who - having been prosecuted for growing marijuana elsewhere (!!) - moved into the village to start again. He tried doing different things (crops, irrigation methods, fertiliser etc.). Some things were successful. The other villagers started copying him. Here was the innovator and driver of wealth creation not just for himself but indirectly a whole community .... I reflect that this might be the closest person to a new entrant I’ll come across in Cambodia.

We stop at a rickety bamboo bridge and we direct another question to Noy ... He answers ... These moments are special and sweet ... We realise he is a first generation farmer ... More questions follow and we realise he is an innovator ... We realise he has an education, an immense knowledge and a mind with its gates wide open. He told us that when he decided to farm, he came to a village ... asked about land ... and was pointed in a direction and told “help yourself”. I am so excited I consider wetting myself.

The Dude, Rona and me ... just before I wet myself

As we continue I also realise this is probably the most extreme first generation farmer I have met. You see, Noy was born in a refugee camp over the Thai border and stayed there until he was 12. His English is excellent because the UN taught him the language in the camp. He doesn’t know what day he was born as everyone was disorientated as they fled from Cambodia. He never has a birthday.

The camp was hell. Thai soldiers guarded its perimeter with guns and unsmiling stares. No one was allowed to leave. Largely, made up of women and children, if a female strayed too far from the main group they were likely to be raped by the guards. Food was something that was always given .... never found, harvested, purchased or sold.

I asked him why he wanted to farm ... his quick and definite response was a single word that came from a deep, deep place .... “Freedom”.

How's Your Rice? ....

2011-02-02T10:48:00.001Z

Kampong Chhnang, Two hours north of Phnom Penh. Sunday.

We have started to get a little more insight into what issues are affecting the lives of modern day Cambodians. Malcolm - Tony’s cousin who’s lived here for 6 years - has been brilliant. We have been so lucky to have his knowledge of the country.

We are staying in a farm-stay here. At one point I thought I was going to have to share a bed with Tony ... Tony thought he was going to share a bed with me ... we were both nervous. In the end Tony blinked first and I was able to act as a lone MacDonalds Drive Thru for most of the mosquitos in the area.

We walked for about three hours through the paddy fields and the lotus. We met farmers. They spoke a different language and have a subsistence existence but they still reminded me of speaking to farmers in the UK. Mostly laid back, liked a joke and a news. The normal greeting is an almost singing, saying “How’s your rice?”. Which reminded me of a Scottish saying - “Foo’s yer Coos?”

The fields were mostly only appropriate for dry season rice. The Meekon (which is miles away) overflows in the wet season (June to September ... its getting shorter) and the paddys we were walking sometimes were flooded with 5 metres of water. Margins for a hectare (the average size of farm we were seeing) are poor and after a family is fed there isn’t a lot of cash coming in. Loans are usually taken and when all crop is sold and the debt paid ... they are back at square one. Its the one slender thing, amidst the poverty and extremely basic living, I felt I had in common with them!

Dry season rice needs water pumped into the paddy fields; wet season crop relies on the natural rains ... the “working with nature” option is more profitable. The farming craze in the area is Lotus. Its leaves and petals can be eaten, its seed head used for decoration ... but my ignorance reckons this is a niche crop with limited life expectancy ... its definitely not rice. They have to pump water into these fields 24 hours a day but expect a slightly better end price.

In the evening we had a 64 old lady farmer come and speak to us. She radiated an unstated wisdom but looked 94. She’d spent most of her waking life bent over in a paddy field. It was a special hour listening to her.

Farming in Cambodia is hard beyond what I can fully appreciate. The lack of mechanisation makes you realise how our own hands are not enough to progress. The ingenuity, innovation and thought of those special people in the UK’s farming past ... the inventors, the early adopters, the thinkers ... the forces that have got us to where our industry is today ... should be worshiped on a daily basis.

Hell Frozen Over ...

2011-02-01T17:16:00.003Z

Tuol Sleng Prison ... codename: S-21 ... Phnom Penh. It’s Saturday morning.

Tuol Sleng was a tranquil school, a hub of education, that was converted to become hell on earth in 1975. The Pol Pot regime tortured and killed all those they took there (approximately 20,000). Only seven people got out alive.

I don’t think I’ve been to a more powerful place. We see photographs of the room we are standing in ... everything is the same except for the dead body in the photograph ... throat slit, fingers cut off. The photographs were taken by the Vietnamese immediately after storming the building in 1979. Other faces stare at me from the black and white ... faces that had to suffer like no one should, before they met their end.

The lady that shows us round explains how she lost her father, a brother and a sister to Pol Pot. How Phnom Penh was evacuated in 1975 and she, as a six year old, walked for two weeks to find safety. She explains that the torturers were largely children. They were brutalised and brainwashed in jungle camps before being sent to do evil upon their fellow people.

We walk the busy streets of a city once deserted ... and people smile ... we travel by tuk tuk ... and people wave. I realise all these people will have fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins or grandparents that died during the regime and the famine afterwards. 2 million died, 1 million fled the country ... out of a 7 million population. That’s the equivalent of 17 million dying in the UK today; and over 8 Million fleeing as refugees. But the smiles and waves have so much more meaning ... displaced people can still find a place for gentleness ... horror and sadness can be overcome ... me moaning about the lack of rungs on the farming ladder feels incredibly pathetic.

Too Cool for School ...

2011-01-31T10:05:00.003Z

24 hours. 5 minutes sleep. 6,000 miles. We are in Phnom Penh. Straight off the plane. A tuk tuk ride - sything through the heat, smells and madness of an alien culture - to the Royal Agricultural University to meet the Rector ... the main man.

With excellent English and endless patience for daft questions he draws the skeleton of Cambodian agriculture so we might be able to add bits of flesh at a later date.

He spoke of the future mostly. The one time he dwelt on the past he became emotional. By 2015 Cambodia wants to be the third largest exporter of rice in the world. The target is 1 million tonnes exported. In 2011 they officially export nothing. Already though, in the last 10 years, they have increased their average yield from 0.9 tonnes per hectare to 2.7 tonnes. New varieties, irrigation, double cropping have all helped.

Before Pol Pot - in 1974 - 85% of the population were farmers. Now it stands at 74%. 2 Hectares of Rice paddy makes a decent living especially if it can be double cropped. Yet most have around 1 hectare, many can’t double crop.

Corporate agriculture is now gaining momentum. As there is no legally effective deeds of ownership, companies have started farming smaller farmers’ land.

The land price has increased from $1,000 per hectare in the recent past to $15,000.

But the one question I wanted a different answer than I got was in relation to New Entrants. The brutal facts are 1. No one aspires to farm (too hard and looked down on) and 2. Most of the population have a direct family link to a farm anyway. As my study is on aspirational new entrants from non-farming backgrounds, I briefly consider my stupidity for not thinking the trip through ... I should really go back to the airport ... but then cold beer amidst the craziness of Phnom Penh with two fine Welsh gentlemen was too hard to resist.

No Sleep Till Phnom Penh ....

2011-01-29T10:36:00.000Z

Notice: Navel gazing has been temporarily suspended on this blog. Disruption is likely to last until the 14th of February. We sincerely apologise for any inconvenience caused. The author would like to assure readers (if there are any) that every effort will be made to continue the same low standard of waffle despite the adjustment in subject matter. Thank you for your patience during this time.

Today we fly to Phnom Penh ... a city I know so little about I don’t even know how to pronounce it. Capital of Cambodia, some obscure travel blogs have suggested that its only been recently that murder and rape have become social taboos there. I suspect this information is unreliable in the extreme ... but just in case ... I’ve taken some body armour and a male chastity belt.

I have told a few farmers where I’m going and the looks in response have varied between incredulous to social black balling. “What are you going to learn there?”, they say adding at least one more adjective than quoted to add emphasis.

As I’m effectively in middle age (... something I’m struggling in my brain to accept ...) I can vaguely remember the pictures on TV of the horrific famine there ... I can recall a film called “The Killing Fields” achieving Oscar recognition ... and - based on limited information - Pol Pot still makes it onto my ‘Top 5 Bad Blokes that used to run countries’ list.

Cambodia has a significant part of its history written in blood with a pen of misery. That history centres on agriculture. Our history centred on agriculture once too ... but that was four centuries ago, not three decades. Pol Pot’s version of Agrarian Communism put the farmers as the saviours of the country and intellectuals as the curse [interesting you can’t be both]. It didn’t work. People starved to death.

We live in a country where often agriculture is perceived as tenuous, adjacent to the core wealth and prosperity of our nation. In Cambodia - where 70% of its population are farmers - agriculture is everything, crucial, central. Almost the inverse reflection of ours.

To recover from the horrors of the past requires an extreme resilience that our generation, in our country, in our industry have thankfully never had to look for. I know I will learn things in Cambodia that I won’t learn anywhere else.

Operation Futile - Phase 2 (Shock & Awe) ...

2011-01-24T23:30:00.003Z

Zero nine thirty hours, 19th of January, I perform a flanking maneuver and reach the village post box, encountering little resistance. My breath is shortened by adrenalin (.... or smoking). This has to work .... The first advance of Operation Futile - (ok ... that only means writing an article in the local paper) - has proven unsuccessful. Now with limited numbers (that just means me), many casualties (largely in the pride and ego regiments) and basic rations (no beer until I get to Cambodia) I have initiated my second assault. The mission: to secure land for my people (/sheep) and thus live an endless peace.

I deploy many copies of a two page flyer into the post box. These are to a number of Estates controlling a total of 275,000 acres; more flyers are addressed to all the Land Agents in the area - probably controlling a similar amount of acres. That’s half a million acres ... and I only want 200.

I wrote the flyer in my own slightly jokey, slightly informal, slightly “special” style. I know some people find this way of writing a bit weird and I’m guessing that that particular demographic might be highly represented in the world of land agents.

I’ve had two responses though - one to offer sympathy, but he hadn’t let anything for 5 years and is unlikely to ... if things don’t change significantly. The other was more promising - potentially a joint sheep venture on the nearest Estate to home. I’ve been to see him already and managed to speak, putting most of my words together in the right order. I actually sold myself - which is unusual - and painted a picture of my sheep, breeding strategy and ambitions with a broad brush, using bright colours. I can do no more now but hope.

The other conversation I had was interesting too. A thoroughly decent chap who ran a big Estate. He was totally cheesed off with the whole tenancy thing and his total distrust of politicians. This mainly stems from the huge issue discussed earlier this decade in Scotland of allowing tenant’s to have an absolute right to buy their own farms. He didn’t quite say “those commies in Holyrood” but it was evident he accepted MSP’s had absolutely no sympathy with his challenges in trying to protect his employers assets and glean any sort of income.

In many ways it’s a class war out there - landlords versus tenants. Each ensconced in their trenches, whilst farming is not allowed to grow on the battlefield due to their impasse. I’d like to see the day when both sides agree to play metaphorical football in No Man’s Land, give each other a big hug and then busy themselves with something worthwhile like filling the trenches in. Birds will sing, as the poppies sway in the breeze, bathing in the bright warmth of evening sunlight. They will skip hand in hand through the fields, down the gentle hillside, toward the quaint Midsomer-like village of Cloudland-apon-Cuckoo.

Tenuous music video usage

PS Its to Heathrow on Wednesday then Cambodia on Thursday and then on to India on the 4th. This will be my last trip abroad for Nuffield .... probably. So then its a case of a slow surrender in accepting some special things can’t carry on forever.

Farmers 4 Justice ....

2011-01-15T22:01:00.001Z

Only 15 days in and I’ve packed a lot into 2011 ... I’ve given up smoking three times already.

I have used the ‘F (sweary) word’ - as a noun, verb, adjective and prefix - a total of 328 times. Principally its usage related to EID tags and getting them into sheeps‘ ears ... its harder than you think ... if you are a bit useless. I huffed and I puffed and now two thirds of the flock are done. Some currently have 5 tags in their ears which - deep in the dark recesses of my mind - I think is illegal, punishable by continued tutting and a resultant long term sense of worthlessness.

I also had that weak stab at the resourcefulness I mentioned in the last post. Its 75 days and counting before I need to be off my current grazing. I have nothing secured for the summer (just writing this makes me feel slightly queazy). So, I wrote a press release and sent it to my friendly local farming editor from my friendly local paper. It has a circulation of 80,000 and a good farming section. Alot of people read it and hence if you appear in it, the teasing is relentless.

Article so big, A4 size just wasn't enough!!

Not my best side ....

Obviously I’ve had no success. There was a very nice lady that phoned up to say she wouldn’t like to see me stuck and has 100 acres. It’s even further away. I worked out that by March this year - having had the grazings 35 miles away for 5 years - I will have travelled the equivalent of twice the circumference of the Earth just to get to the same point where established farmer’s walk out their house door! .... I have the carbon footprint from the really rough area of hell. The nice lady was nice enough to say she’d keep the offer on hold just in case I can substantially aid Kyoto Protocol emission targets and find something closer.

One of my friends - he just thinks he’s a client - said I had shot myself in the foot by saying, at the end of the piece, that if I don’t make it up the “Ladder” it would have been down to me and no one else. He reckoned I had a duty to complain about what is obviously a failing system.

Now I’m feeling guilty. I’ve also started thinking that perhaps if publicity and phase two of my plan - to be confessed in time - doesn’t work ... maybe it isn’t me after all ... maybe there is nothing available. Phase three will have to be dressing up as Batman and shouting from the roof of the Parliament building at Holyrood ... either that or actually phoning people ... I’d prefer the former - I’m no good on the phone and like how I look in a Batman outfit.

I just feel there has to be opportunities out there ... people thinking about letting ground out ... but its the efficiency of providing them with comfortable solutions that is screwed. Taxation; complicated, legal methods of tenure; risk (not knowing or trusting that person); security of tenure; right to buy; knowledge (lessors have no idea where or who all the potential lessees are); ignorance (they don’t comprehend the extent of the potential benefit); fear of the unknown ... they all cause friction and resistance along the path from landowners thought to landowners action.

That’s the angel on my shoulder speaking ... the devil is whispering in my other ear that land ownership does not come without responsibility. It should not be a tax, subsidy or wealth haven that effectively encourages a lack of agricultural efficiency in many instances. He reckons, that soon it will be in the national interest to farm land as efficiently as possible and poor land use will be outlawed. He is really keen on the idea that I should get some mates involved, grab my pitchfork and storm the capital, shouting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that I am profoundly irritated ... Even he thinks the Batman costume is a bad idea, though.

There is the Farming Ladder - with or without rungs, that are obvious or just hidden - but there is also the person climbing it .... surely we have a duty to ourselves to climb it the very best we can, using everything in our power. I’ve got a bit more in the locker than one article in the Dundee Courier .... last resort is my Wonder Woman outfit.

Weapons of Mass Distraction ....

2011-01-06T02:13:00.001Z

I am easily distracted. And those devils at Google know it. They have started to make work for my idle hands to do. On my Google Homepage they have now started to recommend YouTube video clips that I might want to waste yet more time with. I duly oblige ...

Video 1. A scientist from Harvard talks about the power of synthetic happiness. He gives examples of people who have had to endure hardship and then quotes them afterwards. All effectively said it was a blessing and that they were glad the proverbial had hit the fan ... in the end it made them happy. He used the statistic that a year after two groups of people had a major event happen to them ... both groups scored the same for happiness ... one group had won the lottery ... the other had lost the use of their legs. Basically there is something in us that convinces us we are happy with our situation ... however bad, we can adjust. Synthetic happiness is as powerful and “real” as actual happiness.

Video 2. This big guy I’ve never heard of - Tony Robbins - speaks ... he has a lot to say! He suggests people think he is Mr Motivation ... he denies this ... then proceeds to motivate. I am wary of Self Help Gurus. They tend to be heavy, Max-Strength American types which my shallow Scottish Lite attitude finds hard to embrace. But he said something that was particularly pertinent for those on the farming ladder.

He reckons that when we don’t achieve something, we convince ourselves that the reasons we didn’t are things like ... lack of time, lack of money, lack of opportunity. Basically what we are convincing ourselves of, is it was due to a lack of resources. He says the REAL reason we don’t achieve something is lack of resourcefulness.

Big Tony

It brings to mind the gnarled old army veteran ... like Clint Eastwood but with less reliance on rude words ... that showed our Nuffield group round the Gettysburg battlefield. His catchphrase ... his ultimate message was there are barriers to everything, many circumstances seem impossible and all of those that succeed do three vital things - they 1. ADAPT; 2. INNOVATE and 3. OVERCOME. Clint actually mentioned this in the true classic film that is Heartbreak Ridge but he termed it as Improvise, Adapt and Overcome ... It must be a US Marine thing.

Foul mouthed Clint

This in turn brings to mind the first farmer I met in Australia and his reaction when I moaned about the system in the UK that prevented new entrants progressing. The look he gave me suggested I may as well have said my favourite singer was Liza Minnelli, I loved West End Musicals and had strong opinions on male fashion.

The point is ... ultimately it has to be up to the person on the ladder to find his or her way up it, despite the lack of rungs. Lack of opportunity is really annoying but this annoyance can lead us to defeat ourselves ... to convince ourselves it can’t be done.

Big Tony also spoke of what we want as human beings. He boiled it down to two things - achievement and fulfillment. The two aren’t necessarily the same and its fulfillment that is the most powerful. Many make the mistake to assume achievement will provide fulfillment but quite often it doesn’t. Maybe climbing all the way up the ladder isn’t the be all and end all.

So we can convince ourselves we are happy; we can convince ourselves its not our fault for not getting to where we want to be and we can even convince ourselves that the final achievement will provide us with ultimate fulfillment. Perhaps we should be wary of the salesman inside us all ... be less convinced ... and look at things a bit differently.

My brain is overheating ... I’m going to have to stop now ... but soon I’m going to have a weak stab at resourcefulness ... I have a plan which hopefully I’ll tell you about soon. Not sure if Clint would approve but I’m sure it will be my very own Heartbreak Ridge.

For Flock's Sake - Please Let it End .....

2010-12-21T23:43:00.004Z

One of the few books I’ve read more than once is “The Farming Ladder” by George Henderson. I liked it so much, I named my Nuffield Scholarship study after it. Oddly - even though there is so much wisdom within his book's cover - I would have hated to meet George. He seemed to be incredibly opinionated, self-satisfied and humourless. Yet he left a book to the world that - almost 70 years on - will still be inspirational to some and was, certainly, to me.

One thing he spoke of ... which was, in many ways, totally out of character to his normally practical and coldly objective attitude .... was of a spiritual connection with sheep. If I’m weirding you out skip this next bit and go to the even weirder next post.

He described a couple of occasions of significant spiritual liaisons with sheep and sharing them with other shepherds. Even though sheep became of less and less significance to his business, he described the overwhelming contentedness he felt like no other in farming ... when he knew all was well with his flock.

I can identify with this. And I reckon even alot of proper stockmen might. You feel uneasy when all is not well. Every now and then you act on a gut feeling and think its weird because there was something a bit psychic to it (obviously I imagine this and it is simply coincidence but I like the idea).

The flock now has not seen grass for 4 weeks. The Met Office keep teasing about a thaw but it never comes. I’m not a real farmer - no tractor, don’t make silage, no shed. My mission is to operate with very little fixed costs hence - no tractor, don’t make silage, no shed. Its times like these, unlikely to be repeated, extreme conditions, that you wish your fixed costs were extravagant and thus the sheep were happy. Its like torture relying so heavily on something you can't control. Please let it end, please let the thaw come, please let them see grass, please let all be well with the flock once again.

To prove there is a special relationship between Shepherd and his Sheep, one of my flock gave me the following yesterday .....

The Diary of Lamb Fank ....

2010-12-21T23:41:00.003Z

18th November 2010 - Day 1

This has to be a first! I am a sheep and I’m actually writing a diary .... coooool! Not only do I shed my own wool but I am genetically bred to be literate, to have an appreciation of the melancholic genius of Del Amitri lyrics and to have strong opinions on the subtleties of test cricket.

I live in the uplands above the Firth of Forth in West Fife and weigh 65 kg ... though horrifically, I’m pushing 70 at the moment. Worse still my wool is growing and making my bum look really big. Otherwise, I’m feeling good and have lots of girl friends I can relate to on a spiritual and deeply emotional level. I love life, though this does not constitute a contract and I may decide to end things at any time for no apparent reason.

19th November - Day 2

Feeling a bit odd today ... restless .... tense. My mind calender reckons The Master of Disaster (our “shepherd” - Michael ) should have supplied a boy sheep to me by now. He constantly disappoints me and needs to seriously up his game.

20th November - Day 3

At last - Boy Sheep supplied for my delectation. He is semi-gorgeous, though not exactly Brad Tup-Pitt. However, he is kind and generous with his love ... albeit his chat needs work for him to be “The One”.

26th November - Day 9

Sorry for not writing for a while. Been a bit busy. Mind elsewhere. Boy Sheep bores me and I am ... like ... sooo vanilla about him. He is a bit of a dog anyway .... God, I hate him ... he is dead to me.

27th November - Day 10

It snowed yesterday which was nice ... makes my nose tingle when I bury to eat the grass. Boy Sheep really getting on my nerves.

28th November - Day 11

Still snowing. Feeling a bit peckish. Burying to get at grass becoming tiresome, I prefer grazing without the foreplay, if you know what I mean. Which reminds me ... Boy Sheep is potentially the biggest loser in the world.

2nd December - Day 15

Two feet of snow and not a lot to eat apart from rushes - the culinary equivalent of cardboard spread with doggy do-do, for sheep. Boy Sheep doesn’t understand me - I am putting him in my mind box and shutting the lid forever!

10th December - Day 23

This is getting ridiculous. We have a crap weather sandwich: Layer of snow - layer of ice above the luscious layer of grass ... I can almost touch it .... thinking about drilling for it. Have to rely on His Uselessness to provide pityful morsels of hay. Its bloody freezing. Only plus point is Boy Sheep looks knackered and well ugly.

Me with my girlfriends. He-Who-Can't-Be-Named is second from the left .... PRAT!

15th December - Day 28

I am seriously thinking about giving this lark up. Taking the “four feet in air” life-option. If I were carnivorous, I could probably eat a horse. My favourite colour is green and my favourite organic compound is cellulose .... please provide it to me and my friends (NB this does not include Boy Sheep) timeously!!

20th December - Day 33

Someone, somewhere is having a laugh! This snow is like the sheep equivalent of water boarding and should be outlawed worldwide. The big bum syndrome is no longer an issue. Not weighed myself recently but as diets go this snow has been overly effective. I have told my girlfriends that talk of Boy Sheep in my presence is totally banned or I will look annoyed.

I am stopping this diary as it bores me and I don’t have the strength any more. I have decided not to have babies next Spring ... I don’t want to be reminded of their incredibly awful father. Enjoy your Christmas dinner in the warmth. Looks like me and 49 friends and one complete plonker will be spending it hungry, cold with occasional annoyed looks and resultant awkward silences.

The Ghost of Christmas Past ....

2010-12-10T00:39:00.008Z

Christmas 2008. Something so right but sooo wrong has happened. This great new scheme has been launched that gives farmer’s access to more capital. Its the Scottish Rural Development Programme - Rural Priorities ... catchy name. You can get 50% funding on relevant shiny new stuff. I need it ... I need it bad!

I ignore that 50% means SRDP is a game of TWO halves and that I will actually have to fund the rest .... I get overly excited and, in the festive spirit, I write a wish list as if I were going to send it up the chimney on Christmas Eve.

The resultant application was essentially the following:

Two years on and the Ghost of Christmas Past has come to me ... telling me I am a total pillock. All the items on the list can be justified ... apart from Number 5. The others were useful and needed. They added efficiency and enhanced my balance sheet at effectively half their cost.

Number 5 though! ... Its ostentatious. Its completely OTT. I originally planned on getting a Racewell - it senses the sheep, reads its electronic tag, then grips it, then weighs it, then can draft it three ways according to just about any EID criteria you set ... all by itself ... all whilst I stand behind the sheep making funny body movements and eery sounds to keep them moving. It was £11,500 in December 2008 ... now its £15,500 - GULP! The cheque would bounce at this price and as the deadline approached for buying something, I wrote a cheque the other day for a Prattley 3 Way Auto Drafter ... 4 figures (but only just) ... I’ll get half back, but that still means effectively a five grand investment and for what? Its almost the same as a Racewell and can weigh and draft (but not grip) up to 600 sheep per hour. I don’t need it!

This throws up the issue of capital and its efficient use. Effective capital useage is absolutely key to the scaling of the farming ladder. On the subject of what to invest in when building a business, the wise old men I have talked to have told me: "the less depreciating rust you have, the better"; “buy flesh, not metal”; “buy legs and land”; “keep it simple”. Effectively I’ve said in response - “bugger that, I want a cool new toy to play with”.

I’ve bought the auto drafter to enter the complex world of EID. I want to know what all my sheep are doing and how good or bad each of them are. This ‘want’ costs money ... in many ways it makes work rather than saves it . What the hell am I doing?

But then there is this hope that the Ghost of Christmas’s Yet to Come will pay a visitation apon me soon and show that in the furure I am getting genetic improvement worth £2/ewe per year. I am hiring it out. I even go round farms contracting and consulting. Harvesting data through my pneumatic wonder toy ... spreading genetic gain to all who open their gates. It pays for itself in a year and as a return on investment it is my best purchase ever .... Don’t stop believing! as the song says.

Simplicity saves, complexity costs. The auto-drafter is the bastard child of these two extremes ... the end result could be drafted three ways ... its up to me to set the right criteria.

Hannah Montana Rocks ....

2010-11-28T21:41:00.006Z

Sometimes, as a parent you are asked to perform great sacrifices for your children. Sometimes, parent / child bonding means sitting beside each other ... saying nothing. Keres ... (its Fijian, don’t ask) ... is the scariest five year old girl on earth. I really try to say no to her, but can’t. Her interests include style, fashion, singing, fairies, princesses, getting her photo taken and telling her father what to do.

To incorporate most of the aforementioned - she told me to watch her heroine in ‘Hannah Montana: The Movie’ last night ... but to be quiet for its entire duration. I duly obliged.

Now this isn’t quite the sacrifice you might imagine. The TV series has to be one of the best written children’s programmes I’ve seen (I’m being serious for a change!) and the absolute comic genius of Jackson (Miley/Hannah’s brother) is a wonder..... Have I just admitted I like Hannah Montana? .... let’s move on quickly.

I need to explain that the gist of the entire plot for every episode (and hence the film) is that Miley is a plain, normal girl but can put on a blond wig and become Hannah Montana - the most phenomenal teen music sensation in the world ... no one notices the facial similarities ... just the hair colour.

The movie involves Miley/Hannah returning to her home town in Tennessee. She has become more Hannah than Miley and is a bit pretentious. She meets a boy with lots of hair. The boy is salt of the earth. He has been given a chance to start farming by Miley’s grandma. If he does up the chicken coup, he can sell the eggs (yes ... the farming ladder has reached mainstream ... I knew it would). Miley doesn’t understand. He says you have to start somewhere and that its all about “the climb”. He stole this from me .... as in - its all in the struggle - but as he has more hair than me and the film was made before I thought of this - I’ll let him off ..... She is working on a song. He says its OK, but his main criticism is that its not about anything.

In the end, she has let 'barnet boy' down by lying to him. She does up the chicken coup to say sorry. She plays a concert in her home town as Hannah but when she sees the boy with the hair style [who by now has grown a huge hat] ... she can’t continue. She takes off the wig and sings the song she was working on, as her true “Miley self” ... this time its about something ... its about first generation farming ... its about life ... its about the process, not the result ... its about “The Climb”. The coiffured egg seller boy smiles ... so does Miley ... [sigh].

Please listen intently to the lyrics ... raise your arms ... sway them from side to side .... and enjoy (without smiling):

The End.

Keres tells me to stop crying ... I try to do what I am told.

Who would have thought Miley Cyrus would be the siren for the farming ladder and first generation farmers. I think we've just found a new theme tune .... watch out, my next karaoke victims .... especially as its in completely the wrong key for a bass baritone!!!

Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em ....

2010-11-19T23:39:00.003Z

I see this job in the paper. £25k p.a. ... 21 hours per week ... really positive and proactive role which could seriously move Scotland’s rural economy forward .... even with me involved. SRDP applications (my consultancy bread and butter) look as if they will be the equivalent of urinating into a strong south westerly next year; I might have a lot less sheep aswell and then there is always the threat of caravan living again. All in all, £25k for half a week looks a sensible strategic move.

I apply at the last minute, juggling a SRDP deadline on the same day.

I get an interview. We have to do a presentation on one of the many subjects I know nothing about (its a long list). I do some research and even talk to someone about it.

The interview goes well. They are very nice. I do however talk about the Rural Leadership course I did in 2009 and describe the moment when we had an American Rural Policy guru giving his opinion on our individual presentations .... I blurt out that he “touched” me (I might explain this one day). Fortunately, they obviously don’t assume it was in the physical sense .... phew.

They phone me again. Lambing and Nuffield commitments are a concern but they seem keen.

Get a call today, offering me the job ... Back of the Net!! .... We review the terms and conditions ... get to the pay. “So if its £25,000 pro rata” .... [pause, my end] .... PRO RATA! .... that’s half what I was thinking ... I consider just accepting the job to avoid embarrassment but manage to substitute this by saying “sorry” 34 times in 2 minutes.

Note to self: read the damn advert properly before applying for a job.

It wasn’t THE most embarrassing moment I’ve had to endure in my life ... but its a brand new entry in my top forty.

FREEEEEDOOOMMM!

2010-11-10T17:43:00.003Z

It was Saturday night. The conference had ended. A massive 14.285714% (every little helps) of 2010 scholars had stayed for the final night. Though this number didn’t include “groupies”. As the lonely Scot I felt some pressure to make suggestions .... what did I come up with? Scottish folk music! Albeit semi-acoustic. Being “cool” is so over-rated, you know.

The Scotsman Lounge is my favourite pub in Edinburgh. More a Spit Only pub as they think Sawdust is for girls. We could have gone to the trendy bars or the student pubs with Irish names ... but the Scotsman is part of Scotland many visitors don’t see .... or at least see and live to tell the tale.

Bearing in mind the guests were Sassenachs, I’m sure they felt comfortable and welcome with the dominant display above the bar:

Its from the Declaration of Arbroath, that declared Scottish Independence from England in 1320 .... we take a while to let go, north of the border! The two piece band played their own songs about love lost and the solace of alcohol. When I first started going it was all about the protest song ... about oppression, injustice, the struggle, the fight, the revolution and the socialist way. William Wallace, Robert the Bruce, the Jacobites, the Highland Clearances, the love of this country .... our country. The oppressors were usually the English or the landowners .... or worse still, the English landowners. A high proportion of my good friends are English - and some even own land - but when I used to step into the Scotsman there was a fever that took hold. The thought of truth being repressed, compassion being discarded and justice being suffocated, does that to a man and makes you sing louder.

This is mere history ... it just happened to involve the English (sorry) but the bottom line is ... all this anger involves the lust of some for wealth and therefore the lust for land. It’s not just the Scots and the English, its a common theme throughout the world with a few notable variations.

This culture permeates rural society a millennium on. People used to fight and die for land in the UK, so at least there’s been some form of progress. Yet land still brings out a certain avarice in folk. There is a significant minority of farmers that would rather farm 1000 acres at a loss, than 100 acres at a profit. Land is emotional, it can become a fever, having more land is often the most important priority in a farmer’s brain.

This culture resists any temperance on who can own land, it gives rich approval to taxation breaks for land ownership, and, most importantly, it prevents trust in new (and even existing) ways to lease land. After a 1,000 years - despite all the singing - land is still guarded warily and possessively. Some people really want it, some people really want to keep it ..... nothing has changed.

This is the culture that saturates our soil .... to change it, seems impossible. But there is hope - I reckon there is a reason why the two piece sing no longer of protest and prefer the more important things in life - love and good times. 11 years ago the Scottish Parliament opened and I have sensed a shift in culture since. Scotland had a voice again, its destiny was partly in its ownership, we as a people had a bit of hope and pride. It gave us an opportunity to make our own decisions. I feel we love the English a bit more as a nation now because they were, in many respects, unselfish by helping Holyrood happen.

If not a bit more love, then at least a bit more unselfishness, a bit less fever, a bit more trust - from both sides of the land question - would go a long way to letting go of the past .... forgiving and forgetting .... and - for first generation farmers - walking on with hope in our hearts.

We've Only Got 12 Minutes to Save the World ....

2010-11-08T22:21:00.007Z

And so they came ... to a place known as Edinburgh, birth place of Michael the Strange, son to Doreen the Nag. Guided by the almighty Stones, they arrived.

This was the location of the Nuffield conference. 2009 scholars each do their 12 minute talk. We drink beer, but only after dark. I talk to some very interesting individuals. A few people laugh at my jokes (.... and my flies weren’t even undone).

The talks are intriguing. There are some really good ones. I imagine doing mine next year. I nip out to purchase additional underpants. Later, I picture getting asked an aggressive question. I nip out to get more handkerchiefs. Then, I worry about what to say and envisage myself getting all emotional. I nip out to pick up extra valium.

What struck me were the good ones. One chap was a natural orator, used no notes that I could see and was incredibly lucid. One guy was clever, original, with a wit so sharp you had to say “ouch”. Another though was probably the most entertaining. He talked on a controversial subject but was very funny and unconventional. I heard later that his talk split opinion - a few were disapproving. Apparently it wasn’t serious enough!! I guess this disappoints me but maybe this is my first brush with stuffiness and as such it is a navigation point. I might bring my target of 24 jokes in 12 minutes down in slight compromise ... and even incorporate at least one fact.

I noticed many were really professional, they were very controlled emotionally ... this is obviously a sensible thing. I panic about when its my turn ... I think of embarrassment and a weird hybrid of Gwyneth Paltrow at the Oscars and Kevin Keegan getting mad with Sir Alex ... expressed through a 12 minute talk format about first generation farmers .... I’m nipping out again - and this time, I’m buying in bulk.

Two Missed Meals from Revolution ....

2010-10-23T17:47:00.005+01:00

It is 2030. Simon Cowell is Prime Minister, elected via the red button on everyone’s remote .... Ant and Dec stay in No11 and manage the nation’s finances in an amusing, laddish way .... most importantly, Scotland have just won the Rugby World Cup .... again (its getting embarrassing now). I am still writing this blog and have now managed to attract 12 followers ... though of these, two have fallen into deep comas due to reading too much dull and weird internet content.

The price of land has reached £100,000 per acre. The UK sheep flock has reduced from 15,000,000 to 650 (and they are all mine .... still on seasonal lets). Land is owned primarily by merchant bankers, horsey folk and businessmen, not of UK domicile. As a result of the land price, agricultural rents need to be £3,000 per acre but profits on that acre are still only around £100. In most sectors we have to import 95% of what our population consumes (but most worryingly, 100% of all Kebabs). All fertiliser and oil are China’s by international law and we have to make do with used chip fat ... luckily everyone is force-fed chips now to ensure their early demise, so that pension costs are kept low.

Liquid farm subsidy has been invented so land “users” / subsidy junkies can just administer it directly through intramuscular injection and thus save bank charges. The last farm tenancy awarded was in 2015 and people refer to it with the same deference as the last person to be hanged. There are a few people trying their best to produce food but mostly land has become a great way of 1) retaining wealth - with the help of fiscal policy (Ant and Dec are quite happy with this as they own most of Northumberland) - and 2) having REALLY big gardens.

But all is not well. For it was foretold by the Great Sayer in the year of our Lord, 2009 that there would be a Perfect Storm in 2030. Formerly know as John Beddington, the Great Sayer was taken as an idol by a ragged band of agrarian militants. He foretold what has now happened: that the increasing world population - now standing at 10 billion - would mean a whole series of other events would come together: water shortages; energy shortages and .... food shortages. The smelly, ragged militants argued that land should be accessible to those who want to farm, innovate and drive efficient production ... they weren’t the same people as the merchant bankers, horsey folk and businessmen, not of UK domicile .... daaa! No one listened. Agriculture stagnated and declined. The Great Sayer was last seen, wearing placards predicting the end of the world, drinking meths and shouting a lot, at Kings Cross Station.

In 2012 the crack band of agrarian militants were sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit (and for words, they couldn’t spell properly or put in the right order). These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the rural underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as shepherds of fortune. [OK I plagiarised this bit].

But the foretelling has come to pass. Due to a comprehensive transport strike by the damned French there is no food ... at all ... not even the nut based chocolates in the Quality Street tins. No one had any breakfast today (apart from those that had once bought a packet of All Bran and then thought better of it) and everyone has had to miss lunch too. Shops are being looted, cars set alight and we march toward Holyrood and Westminster with revolution in our hearts and just a little All Bran in our bellies (the latter does necessitate longer “rest” stops than normal).

I’ve sent this message via my new time machine, Blogspot application - I wish I had it before. You need to contact the militants, you need to tell them to try harder this time, they shouldn’t get self-conscious about boring people. It may seem dull and unimportant all this, merit based progression and the importance of land accessibility, waffle ... but one day .... this day, in 2030 ... when revolution looms and Simon Cowell’s life is in danger ... it will be the most important thing in the world.

Good luck .... you’ll need it. Lots of love and hugs

Michael (3 year old trapped in a 61 year old body) xoxo

The Michael O'Clock News ...

2010-10-18T19:23:00.007+01:00

22nd of September. I’ve had better days. Occasionally you get a 16 hour period where you stumble upon whatever the collective noun is for .... lots of crap news:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Imaginary blog video of a newscast from 22.9.2010

Announcer

(patronising, slightly cynical, mid atlantic tone)

“And now on Channel Blanche its the Michael O’Clock News where events of little consequence are reported over-dramatically”:...

[Cue dramatic, drum-based music combined with cool visual graphics of sheep] ...

DONG (this represents a bell chime and not a rude word)....

[cut to serious man with a serious hairstyle, and an even more serious voice] ....

Newsreader with the Hair

(impressively theatrical)

“Michael ... [coughs whilst blurting the word Plonker] ... said to be devastated after been given notice on his grazing” ... [cut to picture of Michael making a funny face] ....

DONG ....

[you don’t want to know the rest - its irrelevant, slightly dull and caravan related]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think that had potential but didn’t fulfill (or even half-fill) it. Anyway, bottom line is I have to be off all the grass I have ... every last blade ... by next Spring. Not because I am a cad or a bounder (... this time, at least) but just because the landlord wants to farm it himself now. His consultant has been nagging him that he needs to concentrate more on his farming operation .... his consultant is some “plonker” called Michael Blanche! He’s been really good to me, he’s given me five years and I have proceeded to build a flock of an ok size and feather my warm and cozy comfort zone with super-soft downy material.

So now I need to go round Land Agent’s ... buy a cap and make sure I doff it ... and try to understand that my sheep flock isn’t of any concern or importance to anyone else other than me. I need to make some phone calls, introduce myself, try and find persuasive chat from somewhere and charm pants off people. Its uncomfortable though. I’ve been on places where I was a couple of pounds lighter in the flesh department between arriving and leaving. I’ve been on places where the feudal system is stronger now than it was in the days of William of Orange. I’ve been on places where my tongue was bitten every day and I spoke with a lisp for months afterwards. Renting land is just business; my sheep are just passion. Its not a good mix - when practicality meets passion there is usually only one winner.

Being given notice may be the best or the worst thing to happen. I could get more ground, more control, more security. Yet there is the very credible possibility of not finding grass at all; finding grass but not at a price I can make a worthwhile profit; or finding too little grass. I might get a 6 month let and have to go through the process all over again and bi-annually thereafter thus maintaining a constant state of desparation. I may have to sell all the sheep or a large proportion of them .... and thus sell the dream to the highest bidder in a market place full of wide awake people.

This position represents a defining paradox in my study ... I have to take sides in my thinking at some point and support one attitude or another: is it the system’s fault I find it really difficult to get land .... or, is it mine? I’ve noticed that since returning from Australia and New Zealand where every success and failure was attributed to the individual (and any other reasoning is blatant whinging), that I’ve been sucked back in to this British culture of blaming the system. Land is incredibly difficult to obtain for a price that you are able to grow a business without subsidy. Control is minimal. Length of term is pitiful. You can be dropped on a whim. It causes frustration and I understand where this culture has come from ... its not illogical. But first generation farming is all in the struggle. Struggle is good because it makes you better. Getting into farming should be hard .... but it also needs to be possible. That’s the fine line.

Obviously if I fail - its the system’s fault ... if I succeed - its all down to me! Place your bets please, ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.

Birds - I'll never understand them ....

2010-10-15T09:27:00.000+01:00

Day 2. Somewhere in Devon. I’ve been adopted by a very nice family, who feel sorry for me. They feed me organic chicken and duck confit. They give me Jack Daniels ..... straight. They put up with my inane chat despite having a very long to-do-list. They let me do a few easy jobs that I make difficult; which in the end would have been easier to do themselves. There are a lot of birds, making a lot of incoherent noises.

I’m at Higher Fingle Farm, home of the Amiss family .... all seven of them. They are so nice I get kind of emotional just thinking about them and their kindness. Rona Amiss is a Nuffield Scholar too, one of the brethren that knows the secret handshake and the code words (OK the last bit is just an attempt to make it sound mysterious). Both her and her husband, Nevil, are the kind of humble people that I warm to. Before I visited - Rona’s portrayal of their business was modest and self-deprecating. This made me feel comfortable as I have a great deal to be modest and self-deprecating about.

As a team, however, Nevil and Rona have built an incredibly impressive business from very little. They are Country Living/Waitrose Gold Medal winners; suppliers to Duchy Originals and thus best mates with Prince Chaz; their daughter, Elsa, has been on Blue Peter and the Alan Titchmarsh Show for the Duck Egg business she set up. They have more awards than anyone I have ever known.

Their farm is only 57 acres yet they are both full time and progressing. They employ two men full time, more part time. The keys to having this kind farm business on just 57 acres are 1) intensive enterprises - ducks and duck eggs; 2) added value - the ducks are branded, organic, killed and butchered on the premises, some sold retail; 3) marketing; 4) profiting from their expertise (they have another business that contracts out organic broiler chicken production); 5) more marketing and 6) even more marketing with sugar on top.

Apart from their resourcefulness, I was most amazed at their marketing (as you may have guessed already). Most Thursdays I put some lambs in my trailer, drive to Stirling, drop them off (whilst trying too hard to bond with the yardsmen), get a coffee and a sausage roll, then drive back. Sometimes I phone later to ask what they made. That’s it ... that’s my marketing. It seems that half Rona and Nevil’s business is marketing .... and 99% of their reasons for getting to where they are. They could have still had the brilliant products but they had to be marketed and that meant actually doing deals and selling as opposed to opening a trailer door in Stirling.

Nevil took me on a tour of Higher Fingle .... we saw ducks, sheep, cattle and the butchery. Rona took me on a tour of Devon .... we saw chickens .... more chickens ... and cute little ducklings. I suspect I had my jaw open most of the time. This poultry job amazes me. We met a man that probably made close to £50k profit off 38 acres (more in the good times) and got planning permission for a beautiful house, because of his profitability. Intensity of production means intensity though. There is always a threat of stress because there is always a threat - broken contracts, grain price spikes, over-supply, poor end price. Poultry is heading into difficult times and threats loom large.

I headed back to Scotland with clucks and quacks ringing in my ears. Intensity of production ... its still the way forward but I’ll need to do more than open trailer doors.

Devon knows I'm Miserable Now .....

2010-10-12T22:21:00.000+01:00

It’s sobering to realise that some of the normal essentials in my life, effectively make me a terrorist suspect. Stripped of these essentials, immediately stops me being a liability (at least in this strict context).

And so it was, after discarding my beloved pocket knife, my 200 ml can of shaving foam and, most worryingly, my 200 ml can of deodorant at Edinburgh Airport security, I was eventually allowed on the plane to Exeter.

There was a seminar on the “Missing Rung of the Farming Ladder” in Cornwall. Its a long way to go. Seminars usually disappoint. As a return on investment, if judged on a knowledge profit per £ spent - it was going to be a risk. Yet I managed this risk by obtaining an assurance that my hosts, Nevil and Rona Amiss - first generation farmers and all things poultry - would teach me the ways of the bird the following day.

“The missing rung” referred to tenancies for progressing farming businesses. It was a revelation in some respects. As a Scotsman, I didn’t appreciate that the English system of Council tenancies were such a vital tool for first generation farmers. I asked my obligatory embarrassing question by saying in my introduction that I was from Scotland and that we normally think we are better than the English at most things but that I was really impressed with the Council farms setup. No one laughed: if we were in a pub, they’d have switched off the juke box, stopped talking and just stared.

Their problem is the move from smaller Council tenancies to larger farms on private estates. The Cornwall Council Land Agent’s mission was to get rid of his best tenants! In other words, to ensure they started but then progressed and finished on larger farms. His aim was principally to facilitate new entrants up the first few rungs in farming - 50 acres up to 200 acres. Using my calculator, I suspect that Council Farms are perhaps a light drizzle in the ocean. Yet they are at least that compared to the still waters of Scotland.

The log jam were the private estates and the lack of incentive, will and parallel philosophy to let land. Some said persuasion was the key .... I just can’t see it! To expect business people to act on guilt or loosely held duty rather than financial incentive is asking too much of human nature. But propaganda may be our only weapon. Changing the tax system, changing a culture, changing aspirations, changing rural housing legislation (so retiring tenants can move to somewhere as cheap) - I’m not holding my breath.

So revolution maybe the only way to go. This land is a common property for everyone to share. We need radical change.

Here I am - a small boy with a receeding hairline but without my 200 ml of deodorant. Maybe I’ll have to terrorise the Treasury with only my natural smell as a weapon.

Soiling Myself about the Cost of the Earth ....

2010-10-10T16:04:00.005+01:00

All through my “professional” career - which I have stumbled through like a gentleman amateur - I have had it drummed in to me not to be late for meetings. It was reinforced at our Nuffield briefing with the accompanying inference that concerned electrodes and sensitive body parts. I KNOW I shouldn’t be late - and I have been so good recently - but no matter how hard I try, sometimes it just feels like its a natural talent.

And so it came to pass, I was 30 minutes late for a 60 minute meeting with an Emeritus Professor at the Macaulay Land Use Research Institute ...... CRINGE ... fire up the electrodes; I’ll start undressing! I have plenty excuses ... its just when they are transfered from my over active brain to the written word ... they lose a lot of their all-encompassing power. Being late affected our conversation - I was saying sorry all the time and he was busy thinking I was a bit of a pillock.

That said, he gave me a really interesting perspective on land price. I still had the “3 to 5 times farm turnover = land value” multiplier, I encountered in Oz and NZ, etched bold in my brain - I’d almost convinced myself this theory should be enforced through Act of Parliament (or failing that coup d’etat). The Professor had never heard of the multiplier concept (1-0 to me in my strictly controlled, narrow concept, mind game where he isn’t allowed to score).

Yet he simply pointed out the obvious - that farm land is so much more than farming. There are a lot of wealthy people in the UK; that there is a large demand for investments - be they gold bars; works of art or ..... land. Land is emotive, a dream for some, a need for others, to play out expensive hobbies. Effectively the wealth to land area ratio in the UK is fundamentally divergent from "Down Under" and as such investment and leisure buyers have a significantly larger impact.

Also the effect of subsidy in land price is significant. I read somewhere that Alan Greenspan reckoned subsidy was capitalised to form 40% of the land value in certain countries. My professor looked at it differently - half of the total subsidy given out in Scotland finds its way into the capital value of all land. Broken down to an acreage basis this might represent around £1,000 for an arable acre.

Then there is fiscal policy ... taxation ... relief from inheritance ... relief from capital gains. How much does this add to land value? Also, the turnover of land is low and thus supply is poor. But the professor said turnover of land coming on to the market has always been low - sitting at pretty close to 1% of the total area every year, for 150 years.So add to pure farming productivity - investment demand; leisure demand; subsidy distortion, taxation relief and restricted supply.

The attitude of “you’re mad paying that much for land” has been described often, by those that it has been directed at, at the time of their purchase. Without exception it is the “mad” ones that have been proven right. Increasing their equity and going a goal up in their own mind game with the nae-sayers.

But things are different now. In three years, maybe less, land price has as good as doubled in the UK. Surely now it’s mad, surely buying farm land for solely farming purposes should have a special neurosis named after it. Land purchase is now effectively beyond the reach of the typical New Entrant to farming - providing an enforced protection against such mentalness.

In a weird cycle, given the inflated demand for “safe” investments following the credit crisis, maybe the land market has caught the bug that caused the global financial problems in the first place and grown its very own bubble. At some level of value you have to be “mad” to buy land. Yet the bubble still grows - taxation, subsidy, investment needs and emotional wants will keep the bubble cosy, warm and thriving in its very own padded cell.

Michael Blanche in Apology Shock ....

2010-10-02T20:07:00.001+01:00

“The Blogging Standards and Weirdness Commission has upheld an imaginary complaint against this blog in connection with recent posts. Their findings found that interminable analysis of the writer’s own navel, obscure references to song lyrics aswell as a blatant and embarrassing desperation for followers, was against the original and defining purpose of this blog.

Furthermore the Commission has ordered the author to “get a grip and stop being a big Jesse” and “that any post must now have some relevance to Nuffield travel or study topic”. The Commission, in its concluding findings, pointed out that “you have one shot ... one opportunity, you must capture it and not let it slip ..... word!”

In response to the decision, love hunk, Michael Blanche (41) said he was sorry and would not do it again. However some eye witnesses have reported he had his fingers crossed behind his back during his statement.”

The Farming Ladder, or rather lack of it, is a cause. A Nuffield Scholarship is an opportunity. Furthering the cause through the opportunity is a once in a lifetime shot. From now on ... its serious (well, almost - as I slowly disentangle my fingers). On Monday, I go to Aberdeen to get my theories on the UK land market totally dismembered by a Professor Emeritus. On Thursday, its to Devon to a Seminar on Tenancies (or rather lack of them) and to see the Amazing Lady of the Ducks and New Entrant - Rona Amiss (NSch). From this day forward - let’s try and drop some bombs. Let’s try and get some rungs on the Ladder.

Cringe 2 - The Redemption

2010-10-02T18:07:00.003+01:00

Regular readers (.... I think that just means you Tim .... and maybe Caroline), will recall I once explained the cringe-to-the-max moment when I gave the Reserve Championship (of Any Other Breed of Sheep) to the wrong exhibitor at Perth Show. It took me a while to get over it but I now feel completely better after seeing some poor soul doing far, far worse .... live ... in front of millions .... See Australia's Next Top Model and hang on in there until 54 seconds. Just to explain it starts with the not-as-pretty-one having just been announced as the winner ....

Dry Your Eyes Mate ....

2010-09-23T21:57:00.008+01:00

Well, did I "drop bombs" at the Wiltshire Horn Show and Sale? Eh ..... no! There were no explosions, no red rosettes. I got a yellow one - 3rd in a class of three (... that’s last, isn’t it?). A fifth for a gimmer. Out in the first round in another class.

The sale started bad but was saved by my best two tups going for 460 gns (for Furb - see previous post) and 520 gns (for Elvis) - actually these prices were (I think) the 2nd highest in each class; the 4th and 5th highest in the whole sale - but obviously I much prefer to concentrate on the negative. The final cheque should just about cover the diesel, the chocolate, the crisps, the fizzy drinks, the fry ups and the 6% of the sale proceeds I had to pay my sons - Seamas and Calum - so they would agree to come.

There were highlights - Kevin Beaty’s shepherd’s pie (complete with ostentatious mutton salami, sweet potato combo) at Carlisle on the way down; the Marshall Cook’s hospitality in Leicestershire and the, guilt exorcism-like, satisfaction of repaying Tim White for a fry up he bought me 12 months ago.

Despite the disappointment and the broken dreams, it was an adventure and we laughed as we travelled. Seamas and Calum were probably laughing for different reasons - I mean 6% would make me happy too.

Perhaps I should choose a different song in the build up to next year to get excited to, other than Eminem .... I'm thinking The Animals - "Don't let me be misunderstood" .... good intentions but poor delivery.

Let’s get ready to RUUUMMMBBBLLLE .......

2010-09-12T23:24:00.026+01:00

"Look ...If you had ... one shot ... or one opportunity .... to seize everything you ever wanted ... would you capture it ... or just let it slip?".... For all you Eminem fans out there ..... "there’s vomit on my sweater already!". (If you know nothing of this song best to click on the link - otherwise the following will be even weirder than it is intended to be)

I've done this before - over estimated in my squidgy brain the importance of an event then magnifying it further through song lyrics. You eventually realise that you've got carried away and that no one else is really all that excited about it. When I occasionally ponder on it, usually in retrospect, this trait really makes me cringe .... a lot. But here I go again ... getting overly dramatic with Eminem by my side ... because the count down is on to the Wiltshire Horn Show and Sale at Stoneleigh .... 5.5 days, one shot. Yes, just to confirm - I am applying lyrics written about rapping, abject poverty and social exclusion to sheep!

Not having people laugh at my stock may not be all I ever wanted but it’s in my top five in the life wish list (such an elevated position suggests the term “life” is used in its loosest sense). This sale though is the equivalent of a crystal clear mirror being held up to your stockmanship ... so in many ways it is “everything”, it is pride itself.

Two years ago I won the shearling ewe section - Steven Wonder, the guest judge from Detroit was quite impressed. This will be my second attempt to sell at the sale, and this time its serious! I am bringing the daddy sheep down this time and humiliation is more likely than jubilation. I haven’t fed them anything, all they know is grass and clover. The fear, as a result, is they will be like Dr Evil’s Mini-Me and only come up to the knees of their competitors.

Below is one of the Shearling Rams that is going - Furb; looking out over the Firth of Forth .... FYI before the non-farmers ask .... no, that's not a pillow case hanging from his under carriage :

Next is Elvis. A Two Shear and my favourite. He is normally not this small, he is just very far away! He must have had a suspicious mind today ... I could go on for a while squeezing out Elvis song titles related to the situation but have managed to control myself:

Am I ready to "drop bombs"? I will report back after the event ... ("snap back to reality") ... between my fits of tears and valium consumption.

My Cheque Book and Me .....

2010-09-11T00:19:00.009+01:00

Today I went shopping. The Kelso Ram Sale brings me joy. 14 sale rings, over 5,000 tups, 8 hours, 1 me and 1 cheque book. I was after a Texel, one as bare skinned as possible. For 12 months I’d regretted not bidding further for the barest tup in the sale in 2009. Its index was good and it regarded wool like a a “reet hard” Geordie would a warm top on a January night out in the Big Market. I stopped at £620 to stem the flow of blood rushing from my nose. But since then I have often thought of that tup and wish I’d done things differently.

As someone trying to breed wool shedding sheep. As someone that wants the best of both worlds - wool shedding AND conformation. The trait in some Texels that is expressed through very little wool growth and even wool loss is very alluring. Given that nothing is scientifically proven - by scientists who know science - on what the genetic process is that prompts wool shedding, I’ve often thought of spending an insane amount of money on a tup to do my own trial. Is this trait in Texels similar to that of the Wiltshire? When the two combine will it help wool shedding and increase conformation? More realistically will it just end in disappointment? As usual, I don't know.

My friend and mentor, Willie Shaw (more of whom another time) has been after bare skinned Texels for years. He felt buyers at the fat lamb sales loved texels and loved bare skins. The problem is he has been ahead of the trend and now, in 2010, everyone is after them. It seemed, in a lot of instances, the skin beat the shape in bidders’ preferences - its now an official fashion and that means an inflated price. I am looking for bare skins for a different reason.

I had two on my wish list. One that was actually shedding its wool, was a tremendous specimen but had no figures. The other was very bare but with a decent index and from a highly respected flock (I suppose that deep down a “name” always impresses me). When viewing the latter, I was immediately drawn to him (only sheep men will not find this a slightly unsettling expression). Sometimes you just know. I paid £1,000 for him, smashing my own record for daft investments at too high a price. Here he is .... don’t laugh or, even worse, take pity. The other one on the wish list went for £3,500 ... so it could have far been worse.

PS Totally irrelevant story time - going round the sale you meet interesting people, telling interesting stories and extolling their very own perceived wisdom. Today an old shepherd was telling the story of when a good friend of his was angry at a chap who he had done business with. The shepherd knew the man in question and defended him by saying, “He’s half honest”. His friend retorted back in a short, profound tone - “You’re either honest or you’re dishonest - there’s nothing in between”. Welcome to my world of Calvinist guilt.

The Hermit on the Hill ....

2010-08-30T22:17:00.005+01:00

What cows make the best spies? The ones that get past-ur-eyes’d! .... Drum roll; symbol clash; .... “Thank you very much, I’m here ‘till Thursday, try the veal and don’t forget the waitresses”.

You know your obsession with farming is acute when, after two hours of excellent comedic, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, entertainment, you are searching your memory for the corniest joke - just because it made some reference to a farm animal. Sadder still is that it bothers you that the aforementioned reference obviously lacks technical accuracy.

After a bit of day release to Edinburgh I have returned to being the Hermit of West Fife (remember: don’t ask, its very complicated) - unshaven, shouting at passers by, showering under a hose but only for special occassions and - most worryingly - talking to myself. Depressingly, my chat’s still not great even though I’m one of the few people that find me amusing.

Solitude and loneliness are too different things. I feel the former far more than the latter in the caravan but maybe that’s one of the less heralded benefits of carbon monoxide for you. (Also I cheat massively by going home at weekends). Solitude is a beneficial state and has seen me starting on the road of the Ryegrass Jedi, mentioned in a previous post. I’ve measured all the fields for pasture mass and done feed budgets as a result - ok, ok I am REALLY bored!

The calculations provided far more questions than answers. What growth rate can I budget on? What is the actual quality of the swards? Is there something wrong with my ruler - there seems to be more grass than I thought? How do I use the information to budget for tupping and for the winter and for the spring?

That’s the exciting bit (honest!). Whereas before it was a question of whether there was some grass or no grass on the day I looked; now the possibilities - that (almost) accurate planning for grass use can provide - seem endless.

For those non-believers, for those non-obsessives; I’ll end on another joke in an attempt to provide levity:

Me: Knock Knock

You: Who’s there?

Me: The Interrupting Sheep

You: The Interrupting Sh.....

Me: BAAAAA

Thank you, thank you very much, you’ve been a great audience ..... Michael has left the building.

The Law of Unintended Consequences .....

2010-08-19T17:48:00.001+01:00

Recovering from my neediness for followers last week was a slow, painful process but I think I am better now. I have to thank “andreas” who represented the sum total of life beyond the hardcore half dozen and gave me an electronic hug. Now the followers are one stronger and we have the Magnificent Seven .... bagsie me being Charles Bronson’s character (you know - the one with anti-social behaviour issues, no chat but really good with a knife).

Life in the caravan - don’t ask, its very complicated - is a simple one with occasional carbon monoxide fueled moments of skewed clarity. Today I am thinking of the Scottish Government ... I’m so rock and roll, it hurts!

In Scotland we claim subsidy. The subsidy entitlements correspond to what individuals farmed 8 to 10 years ago (don’t ask, its very complicated). To claim subsidy you need acres to put on your subsidy form that no-one else claims. As the rules stand you can use land you will never even see, let alone farm (usually in the deepest, darkest north and covered in heather) to claim subsidy on. Some do this - about 4% of subsidy is claimed this way. Some of this 4% are claimants that have stopped farming altogether and receive an income because the rules enable them to. The term “Slipper Brigade” has been coined for this group and everybody is mildly irritated by them. Everybody except me, that is.

To risk this post turning into a glossary of terms the land that claimants never see tends to be referred to as “Naked Acres”. One of my favourite lines I’ve ever came up with (it’s a short list) was in a talk I did once, moaning about the Single Farm Payment: “... the armchair farmer, fiddling with his naked acres ...” ..... I suppose you had to be there!

Anyway, I digress. The front page of the Scottish Farmer this week had Richard Lochhead our Farming Minister saying how he was going to kick the Slipper Brigade’s ass, ‘cause he is well hard. Everybody is mildly irritated by the Slipper Brigade (N.B. except me) so this is easy popularity points. The proposal is to use undergrazing rules and implement these with rigourous enthusiasm - effectively ending Naked Acres. Minimum stocking rates will apply too.

Great! Everybody’s a winner .... though, actually, no-one really wins, more accurately, and only on the face of it, nobody’s a loser for once - except the Slipper Brigade and, apparently, they deserve to have their testicles wired to the National Grid. All the rest can take momentary satisfaction in the Slipper Brigade’s mild disappointment. They got money for nothing and if they can’t be dragged through the streets by a fast horse whilst everyone else throws eggs past their sell by date at them; or if they can’t be sent to Guantanamo now its shut; at least disband Naked Acres.

This is all very well. But I worry. I worry that the pressure release valve of naked acres, is now firmly shut. I don’t know the percentage of land offered for rent on the open market each year, but I suspect its less than 4% of the total land area. Lots of active farmers rent naked acres to claim a proportion of their subsidy. In the clamour to claim all entitlement to subsidy, I suggest the demand for seasonal land will be increased hugely. I suggest rents will increase significantly as a result. And where does that leave New Entrants, trying to get hold of land in an already highly dysfunctional land market? ..... Nowhere to go! People without stock may well get stock again - just enough (and who cares about quality!) to be over the stocking limits, thus taking opportunities away from those that are farming for production not subsidy.

This is where I have to own up to a vested interest. I was lucky enough to get some subsidy. I just can’t get land - that I actually farm - to claim it on. Believe me, I have tried really hard. So I have to fiddle with naked acres too. I produce but I never see the land I claim subsidy on. I will stand tall with the slipper brigade, brothers in arms, bracing ourselves for the punishment that’s due to us. A punishment undertaken by those that wanted the farcical system in the first place but feel its time for a new, improved farcical system to distort markets a bit more.

I read somewhere that Thailand was thriving agriculturally and one commentator, in all seriousness, put this down to having a crap Farming Minister .... he did nothing. Yet, this enabled Thai agriculture to progress, unhindered by government tinkering.

Wouldn’t it be great if things weren’t very complicated? If central government stopped tinkering? They mean well, but never consider the Law of Unintended Consequences. By solving one wrong they create two other wrongs in its place. We have fast multiplying armies of wrongs thanks to subsidy. They march, bayonets fixed, toward the centre of efficient agriculture with killing on their minds.

An Appeal on behalf of the Mikey No Mates Society ...

2010-08-08T23:24:00.006+01:00

In a fit of egomania, I visited this site today, just to count the number of followers I have - its not that sad, is it? - anyway, it still doesn’t take long and I certainly don’t need a calculator (but thanks to all six of you that care). In an attempt to fill another few seconds, I looked at the post list. There are 31 days in July and I wrote 21 posts. I would often write two at a time. This isn’t bragging - all you have to do is try to read them to understand that this might not be construed as a good thing.

I used blogging as a special friend and told the blank page what I had learnt and what I was thinking. It was kind of a diary of my travels and it unnerves me slightly to hear some people have actually read them. In contrast, August has been a barren month so far, a month where the tumble weed blows and in the distance a bell rings in solitary, deliberate loneliness; barely audible above the sound of the desert wind.

I have nothing to say .... apart from that I have nothing to say ..... and I don’t have many followers. I could tell you about my testicle injury caused by a Wiltshire Horn traveling at what felt like the speed of sound. I could tell you my fat lambs did better this week than last. I could be a proper blogger and moan about the high heid yins in the Scottish Government changing the rules on SRDP the day after the deadline for submitted applications. I could even embarrass myself with the story of giving Reserve Champion to completely the wrong exhibitor in the Any Other Breed of sheep class at Perth Show (that WAS embarrassing .... obviously, I just ran away and left someone else to deal with it). But its not the same.

This is the “come-down” I heard about from some of the previous Nuffield Scholars. Its hard to adjust. To come home is easy but also very difficult. You find yourself desperately clinging on to the ideals you developed in six weeks of stimulation whilst figuring out how you could possibly enact them in reality and in the here and now.

If you feel sorry for me, maybe you are slightly saddened by my plight, all you have to do is become a follower. You would make a shallow, egotistical man desperate for reassurance, very happy. Its the electronic equivalent of a hug.

Back to Life, Back to Reality .....

2010-07-31T15:35:00.012+01:00

Warning: The following post contains constant and detailed reference to sheep and should not be read by those with a low tolerance to sheep chat ....

Three days back and its all been a bit bonkers here. The reality is that I owe people money, which I didn’t when I left for my trip. Six weeks of not doing consultancy and cash flow has stopped - one of the rules of first generation farming club I learnt whilst away was that Cash is King..... Bugger - I’m breaking the rules already.

In a vain attempt to stop the men with baseball bats coming to make enquiries, I sent 40 lambs too market on Thursday. The results made me think:

To make a fair comparison, lets use the price per kg figure and then make both the first two groups 40 kg lambs instead. Per head, the Wiltshire crosses would have been £63.60; the Texel crosses would have been £68.40 - that’s almost £5 of a difference. On this basis, taking an example of a total of 650 lambs sold, that would be £3,120 more income if they were all texel lambs. To make this difference up I’d need 699 Wilt cross lambs to produce the same income as just 650 texel crosses.

On the evidence of the above, I probably should be happy to drop the Wiltshire and just use Texel rams ..... but I can’t. See, once upon a time, I had this plan to breed my own peculiar composite ewe. It would shed its wool (that’s why I needed the Wiltshire), be prolific, a great mum and have good conformation. One day I would have thousands of these perfect sheep. I believe in fairy tales - I’m a dreamer and a romantic - but it’s the hope this plan might actually work in reality that makes me happy.

The lambs in the first group were either 62.5% or 56.25% Wilt (its less complex than it sounds, honest!) but only 12.5% or 7.25% Texel (Ok not doing myself any favours re the complexity argument, am I?). The end aim for the composite sheep is for them to be Wilt 50%, Texel 25% and Lleyn 25% with most of them producing Texel sired lambs. I’ll get good prices with patience. I just need to endure some pain before I experience the pleasure. It will all end happily ever after - honest!

IF.....

2010-07-28T11:59:00.004+01:00

Dear Lord, thank you for the blessing you have bestowed upon me on this Nuffield trip. For the people I have met and for the words they have spoken. For the lessons they have taught me and for the sights I have seen. Most of all thank you for not allowing me to make a fool of myself too much by ensuring there was no easy access to karaoke and reminding me to do my flies up at every turn.

Now is the important bit: the translation from Nuffield bubble to reality. Please don’t let my uselessness hamper my ability to apply things that I can translate for good; and please don’t let my uselessness make me think things that will never work are a good idea.

That’s the thing - some things I have learnt could help me immensely if I can translate them properly; other things may seem a good idea but will never work in my situation or at the very best distract me from what should be my true focus.

To paraphrase Kipling (NB Rudyard not Mr Cakeman): If I can trust myself, when all men doubt me, but make allowances for their doubting too... If I can dream - and not make dreams my master; If I can think - and not make thoughts my aim..... If I can watch the things I gave my life to, broken, and stoop and build them up with worn out tools; .....If I can force my heart and nerve and sinew to serve my turn long after they are gone and so hold on when there is nothing in me except the will which says to them: “Hold on”.... Mine is the earth and everything that’s in it and maybe I might be close to being half a man. I realise I’m breaching the melodramatic restrictions that I should strictly apply to this blog but lets just forget this last paragraph ever happened.

I think we all have a "useless" side to our characters, something that distracts us from getting close to our full potential. But we all have really good traits too. The trip has made me realise more than anything that I really need to get my act together. A leopard can’t change his spots but he can add definition, body, gloss and have less split ends by using a different type of hair product. I’ll see if my spots can be made better by the product of this trip. Is there an analogy doctor in the house .... it’s an emergency!

Without Struggle, There is No Progress ....

2010-07-26T23:20:00.001+01:00

The title of this post is taken from a Ms Dynamite lyric (I am so down with the kids, its well bad, innit?). Taking the huge leap from her application of the line as representative of social and racial suppression and the communal struggle against this; Mr Blanche is using it for the progress of first generation farmers.

I have heard of many stories of struggle on the path of progress to a successful farm business. One man came from a difficult background, he had witnessed his mother trying to drown his father in the bath amongst other horrendous alcohol induced violence. He left school at 15 without being able to read or write. But he now sees these as the basis of his determination, and as such - an absolute positive. At one point he lasted 8 months on bread and cheese alone because he didn’t have enough money for anything else. He remembers at the end of this period he sat down for lunch with his work mate and started crying - his lunch didn’t consist of bread and cheese, he finally could afford something better.

Another guy would sleep for 10 months in a year in his swag as he mustered to save up enough cash to build his business. He too was challenged on the diet front due to lack of money on more than one occassion - eating nothing but fruit cake for a fortnight once. He started his first mustering business at the age of 17 and within 2 weeks he was bust due to non-payment for his first two jobs.

In the height of drought another would get up at 4 am, cut bush (so her stock could eat it) till 8.30, school her kids till 3pm then go out again to cut more bush to keep her animals alive.

A man now with equity of over 15 million had, on the way, had his equity halved twice. The key is he kept going. He didn’t give up. As the Brumbie runner says - giving up is easy, anyone can give up. Not giving up is the defining characteristic of the men and women I have met and who have made it.

To quote a less fashionable musician, Billy Ocean - “When the going gets tough, the tough get going”. All street credibility safely destroyed ... phew!

Memoirs of the Unworthy ....

2010-07-26T23:17:00.000+01:00

And so the end is near .....

I’m in Auckland and tomorrow I start the journey from end point back to the beginning. From Auckland to Methven in Perthshire is likely to take almost 40 hours but I suspect my thoughts will be delayed for much longer.

If I cast my mind back over the last six weeks the main things I take from it are that firstly there are other ways of doing things. There is a wider world out there both physically and in attitude. Much of what I’ve seen has made me question the barriers I, and no one else, have put in front of myself. I appreciate this is a cliche but sometimes cliches are true albeit unoriginal.

Secondly, has been the personal stories of first generation farmers. Without exception they have been exceptional people - special not in needs but in wants. Their determination, their ambition, their resilience make the ones that have made it in farming - without help, capital or gift - the best stories in agriculture. Assessment should be made of farmers not simply on the basis of where they are but where they are minus where they started. Judgement of individuals should be made not on what they are but who they are and the depth of their character. Those that have made it had depth, they had depth because all of them have dug deeper than most.

It was an honour to meet them all. I was probably an unworthy ambassador .... there is plenty digging ahead of me.

The Yoda of the Ryegrass Plant ....

2010-07-25T23:20:00.001+01:00

Mandi McLeod - a 2009 NZ Nuffield Scholar - was highly recommended to me as someone to visit. Her report on succession was excellent with some brilliant sound bites and she hasn’t failed to disappoint having met her. She lives just south of Hamilton with her partner Ant “Beetle” Beet, a 50:50 share milker.

Though Mandi came highly recommended, no one warned me about Beetle. He is a first generation farmer, who I suspect is in the top 5% of operators. Whereas some that I have met have been lucky with the timing of markets, Beetle has been hit twice by their vagaries and volatilities. 50:50 share milking is a three year deal, their capital is in the cows and cows have had a value of between $3,000 and $350 in the last 10 years. The share milker getting out after 3 years when cow price is flying is a wealthy man; Beetle got hit when no one wanted cows and almost had to start again. This is the very thing that makes his story better - he got hit then he started again, he got hit again but he still kept going and is now in a position to buy his own farm.

There are a lot of whistful words spoken in the UK on New Zealand farming methods, there is also some cynicism. What I would say is their breeding is good but so is ours in many ways, their scale is impressive but so is others, their low input for low loss at lambing is definitely something I am extremely envious of. But there is one thing they are head and shoulders above everyone else in - growing grass.

Going round his 2.5 hectare paddocks with Beetle opened a door to another room in farming. Things I had read about and heard about, I was eventually seeing ..... and finally believing. The ryegrass plant was talked about with deference and with a detailed understanding. Its physiology: once grazed it will grow again in 3 days, if immediately grazed again it has to drain itself of the strength to grow to its full potential; the senescence timing, moisture content and energy values it produces at different times of year; its response ratio to nitrogen at different soil temperatures; and most importantly of all the measurement of what’s there, the prediction of what will be there and how to fit this with the stock demand. It was a science and a logistical feat of management. It was serious. The same acre in North Island can grow 18 tonnes of grass dry matter or 9 tonnes - depending on how it is managed. The maintenance requirement for a dry dairy cow requires half its requirement as a newly calved animal. Twice and half - these are significant signposts on the grassy track to true efficiency.

If Beetle was the Yoda of Ryegrass, I’m hoping the Force is strong enough within me to use this amazing plant as a true Jedi Knight should use his light sabre - to defeat the dark side (my own desperate inefficiency). Yes, I know - too much TV as a child!

Its not what you do, its the way that you do it .....

2010-07-25T23:10:00.000+01:00

What a difference an hour makes! Sometimes the shortest meetings are the best. I had from 11am to Midday to order a Hot Chocolate and the biggest Latte I’ve had in my life (it came it a bowl which meant my nose had a constant blob of white froth for a significant, embarrassing period!) plus interview my third NZ first generation sheep farmer as our paths briefly met on the shores of Lake Taupo in the North Island.

Alastair has a full time job but has entered sheep farming through leasing the land and stock on an 8,000 stock unit station hundreds of miles away from his home. He feels he has a business model that can yield 100% return on his capital and 7% from all farm assets (average sheep farmers may be struggling to get near 3% here). All he has to find is the working capital for inputs, wages and the rent for the land and stock (around $120,000)

In the absence of a clearly defined vehicle for progression - akin to share milking in dairying - Alastair has built his own in the sheep industry. He has accepted that most current farmers have increased their equity though their “land owning” - rather than their “farming” - business. In other words, most of the equity has been gained from the increase in land price rather than production profits. This is a really important point - I feel currently the only feasible option in the UK for those with minimum capital is to farm your way to a sustainable business. Buying land at current prices, well in excess of its productive value looks crazy ... and my bank manager would agree wholeheartedly.

He repeated Ben Allomes assertion - you have to be in the top 5% of operators to make a successful business from production alone. He called it “Operational Excellence”. You have to think outside the box and innovate. How does he achieve operational excellence? Simple systems was the top of the list - he only has two stock classes: sheep and cattle. With ewe hoggets, different breeds with different breeding strategies, all types of cattle youngstock; some equivalent farms might have 30 stock classes. The right genetics. Feed your sheep correctly - that meant rotational grazing of 1200 ewe mobs in 6-7Ha paddocks on the basis of detailed feed budgeting (a huge amount more dry matter can be grown this way). Forward planning. Excellent staff. In truth he felt it was 100 small things in addition to these but that was my hour up and I would have to wait to find out all the answers to Operational Excellence.

I waved goodbye with one hand whilst wiping the latte froth from my nose with the other.

Good things come to those who wait.....

2010-07-25T23:01:00.004+01:00

At last ... I have touched a sheep! After a long five weeks without physical work I spent at least 10 minutes helping push sheep up a race for crutching ... phew, I need another 5 week rest now. They were Romneys and I have to say I liked them (Oh Lord, King of the Wool Shedding Sheep please forgive me).

I was there to meet Ben Allomes, former Share Milker of the Year and past President of Young Farmers. What a guy! His attitude was so positive, his clarity of thought exceptional. He and his wife Nikki started straight from University with no money. One of the first things they did was write down goals and a strategic plan. The main target was $1 million of equity in 10 years ... they did it in 7! He embraced debt and got excited by it. He was adamant that the only way to progress from a standing start was to be in the top 5% of operators. He drew me a graph of how equity grows and the process he went through. The shape of the graph was one I’d seen a number of times before from first generation farmers:

OK this just shows how crap I am with computers but its years are on the x axis; $ on the y!. They could be any values, I've just chosen 10 years and a million dollars - work with me here. Ben argues that this is typical of building a business from a low capital base. Some people give up in the middle of the graph thinking they are getting nowhere. He also had a view that the progression is made up of three crucial stages. The first third is gaining, perfecting and implementing skills. The second third is making contacts and proving to these contacts you were worthy of progression (hence opportunities arise). The final third was profiting financially from the previous 66.66 (recurring)%.

Second Rule of First Generation Farming Club - Be Persistent!

Wiltshires without the Horn ....

2010-07-19T07:15:00.003+01:00

Obviously, this is just an excuse to put photos in of sheep but as mentioned previously I made a visit to a Wiltshire breeder near Christchurch. Wiltshires in New Zealand are the same as Wiltipolls in Australia. The Sheens are one of two flockmasters that record breeding values in the breed, but Steven has added a 10 point scoring system of shedding variation which he has been applying for 5 years. He reports it has made a huge difference. A group of Wiltshire Horn breeders in the UK have been recording the same for two years with a five point scale, so technically he is cleverer than us!

Wiltshire Horns seem non existent and a major reason for this is any lamb or hogget killed has to have less than 40mm of horn or the processors will not accept them.

What the Wiltshire Horn has over the Wiltshires I saw was shedding ability. Steven would quite acceptingly shear his sheep as long as he could do it with the sheep standing up. Otherwise the sheep were big, meaty and selected for easy care characteristics. I was impressed!

I say Composite, you say Synthetic ....

2010-07-19T07:11:00.001+01:00

The sheep industry in New Zealand has seen many changes. In 1980 there were 60 million ewes now there is only 23 million. Sheep in a lot of the South Island have made way for Dairy cows, Deer and even Vineyards. Yet despite all this they export the same tonnage of lamb. Lambing percentage has increased from 102% in 1980 to an average of 123%. Carcass weights have gone from 13kg to 17.6kg per animal.

In terms of breeds, the Romney still dominates at 40% of all ewes; thereafter there is the group known as “Other” at 29% (more of which to follow); the Coopworth (a stabilised Romney x Border Leicester) represents 12.2%; with the Perindale at 9.6%.

The “Other” category represents what are known as Composites and include Kelso, Rissington, Greline, Textra, Romdale and Coopdale ewes. I was forcibly told that what I, and everyone else it seems, called a Composite (cross bred sheep that has been stabilised by a number of back crosses) was nothing of the sort and in fact these should be termed Synthetics. Composites are really cross bred sheep that are constantly added to with new genetics (I scare myself with how interesting I can be).

The New Zealand “Composites” have probably peaked and are on the decline. Overly aggressive marketing and their failure to prove themselves under difficult conditions have checked their rise. The Finn and East Friesian breeds, which have a part to play in many of these sheep, add fertility but produce lambs which are incredibly hard to fatten. Processors hate them. Fertility may be there but some lack significantly in mothering ability. As the fashion was raging some suppliers made the mistake of supplying not the top rams, just all the rams and quality dropped. Quality will prevail and some Synthetics will be here to stay but the cynicism learnt from alot of broken promises will remain.

Sheep are just sheep and its perhaps overly optimistic to pretend otherwise.

Take the rope down and return the wobbly chair to its rightful position .......

2010-07-18T02:53:00.002+01:00

I am an emotional man. I cry easily and laugh at anything. The problem with this is that - as (the legend that is) Ronan Keating once said - “Life is a Rollercoaster”. Having been exposed to the wonders of the dairy industry and the phenomenon of share milking - I was down - not “valium / noose and wobbly chair” down but down nonetheless. Share milking is a young man’s game. I felt like I’d seen it 20 years too late. I’m 41 and only have a hobby.

Friday was free - no meetings - which, given my Calvinism induced guilt complex, was really worrying me. I happened to get a name of a Wiltshire breeder from a man that helps run the breeding value recording programme (SIL) and managed to visit the breeder and his wife near Darfield (40km from Christchurch) to subdue my self flagellation. My expectations weren’t high but I am obsessed with Wiltshires (its so wrong, yet feels so right) and I needed out.

The visit turned out to be a revelation. Not only were their Wilthires actually really good sheep, they were first generation farmers. Not only were they first generation but Steven had started when he was 37 - that’s later than I did. Now in semi-retirement they had made something really significant from not a lot. A 750 acre farm, 2,300 ewes, 1,000 hoggets and 70 finishing bulls. Literally every square metre was improved and used to its full potential. They grazed goats in the gullys to clear gorse. Over winter they would move a half hectare electic fenced paddock every day to maximise grass usage, fertility transfer and regrowth. Their costs were very low, but they never skimped on fertiliser. They were a team and had obviously enjoyed their journey together immensely. They had bought their farm and bred good sheep. They were happy with what they had achieved but humble too. They may not have had equity of $15 to 20 million but they were as successful as the dairy guys I’d met a couple of days earlier - they had achieved their goals together in a far less profitable sector.

Its still possible to skin the farm cat, you just have to adjust your method when you get older (these analogies still aren’t cutting it are they?).

PS. Obscure sheep photo is of Landmark ewes - a synthetic (NB not a composite! - there is a difference) bred from the government's own flock. I will tell you more soon .... don't get too excited!

The Milkmen of Human Kindness ....

2010-07-18T02:52:00.000+01:00

Met two first generation dairy farmers yesterday. Both had Equity of between $15 and 20 million having started with minimal savings! Some, if not most, of the successful farmers in New Zealand are first generation and in the dairy industry. Surpluses can be immense one 50:50 share milker (roughly 50% of costs, 50% sharing capital inputs) earned $650,000 last year and this sort of money may see the end of such agreements, as its too much for the land owners to stomach. The flip side is that the previous year little money was made and much lost. Whereas the end price of milk solids (a kg of milk solid effectively means a twelfth of of a litre) used to vary by 50 cents it can now have as much as a $2 fluctuation from year to year. It stands currently at around $7 / kg which is seen as good.

The pathway in dairying seems simple but intrinsic yet only around 20% make it all the way. People start young - late teens, early twenties. Savings are made, this money invested and heifer calves raised. Once milking these heifers can be leased (@15% of value) into other herds and when numbers are large enough a Lower Order share milking job (less capital, less share of surplus than 50:50) can be had putting the cows up as capital. Thereafter a 50:50 share milking opportunity can be sought where rewards can be even greater. Some share milkers run more than one farm; perhaps using a lower order share milkers or employed labour to run the other farms day to day. Apparently there are some in the North Island share milking up to 7 properties. From here land ownership is very realistic given the potential profitability of dairying.

Debt is huge - it is not uncommon for there to be only 30% equity and there are plenty with less. Yet if the return on capital employed is 16% and the interest rate is 8%, yield is still being made on whatever debt is held. Debt is seen as a positive and - in current conditions - easily serviced. The banks might refuse a loan application for $200,000 for a wool shed but accept one from the same party for a $2 million dairy conversion. Yet all that is required is for the price to fall below $5 and there will be a shortage of new under pants in the department stores of New Zealand.

What amazed me was the culture in the dairy industry. Most have had help and kindness bestowed upon them when working their way up the ladder; now those further up, in turn, want to help those lower down. If you are young, driven and want to make a success in farming from a humble starting point - come to New Zealand and milk cows!

Let's have a heated debate .....

2010-07-14T13:14:00.001+01:00

In a followers survey to the question “Am I mental?” with respect to keeping pigs (see ‘Generation Next’ post), the results were as follows: “Definitely”, 50%; “Not bothered, but definitely”, 50% (OK, OK there are still only two followers).

My Wiltshire Horn wingman Tim reckons pigs are the quick path to no life and bankruptcy and sheep rule OK. (To be fair he’s had experience of the pink things). Building lots of capital only to die is a flawed goal, he says. This reminds me of something else Lynton Arney (the nice man, with nice Border Leicesters) said to me: “If you die with more than a dollar in your pocket you’ve mismanaged your finances” - maybe you’ve mismanaged your life too.

Yet all the evidence suggests that for first generation farmers to make an adequate living and have a sustainable business structure you need to a) make good profits - so you can live this year; b) build equity - so you can live next year and c) generate cash so you can live today and are able to fulfill a) and b). New Entrants are challenged with low levels of capital, a business that is too small to be viable and difficulty in accessing land at sensible values. Logic would suggest that given this you need to increase capital to build the business to a viable level and make a more cash generating use of land (than maybe sheep can provide).

I read a statistic that 32% of the New Zealand dairy industry are from a non- farming background. Most of these will be share milkers - it is huge here. I am going to meet a first generation sheep farmer on Saturday - to my knowledge (admittedly poor) he is the only one in New Zealand, it certainly feels like it! The reason for this discrepancy: cash generation; profitability and thus an ability to build capital all on a relatively low acreage without having to rely on living to 135. Best story I heard was an Englishman who spent 10 years share milking until he owned 1000 cows - he then sold them at the top of the market for $3000 each (now worth $1200) = a cool $3 million. He might be able to finance a sheep farm with that!

Example figures of turnover and profitability (on the same theoretical hectare) were given to me by a very clever man, whose first love was sheep:

Dairy: Turnover - $9,000/ha; Profit - $4,000/ha
Crop: Turnover - $4,000/ha; Profit - $1,500/ha
Sheep: Turnover - $1,500/ha; Profit - $ 600/ha

Pigs that make a good profit is not a “mental” enterprise; pigs that aren’t done right or are victim of macro-economics .... well I would definitely have to see Dr Bonkers then. Maybe Tim is right - they will ruin my life. Maybe there is another way ... but in the mean time I would urge people to have more sausages and eat bacon every day ..... just in case.

Ain't no mountain high enough ...

2010-07-14T13:06:00.003+01:00

With the logistical tenacity of my Uncle Tom Murdoch (and the unforgiving hospitality of my Aunt Janey) I was able to visit four high country farms in my first five days in New Zealand. Queenstown is on a similar latitude to Bordeaux yet the landscape is like the love child of Switzerland and Scotland with additional hybrid vigour, way above the mid parent mean. It is truly remarkable as the name of its closest mountain range - the Remarkables - suggests: they say it how it is in New Zealand!

My visits were constant in quality but what struck me was the variance in attitude of my hosts. My first visit scared me - the technical detail was fired at me at a constant velocity somewhere above the speed of sound itself. A stock unit - the principle measurement of livestock farming - wasn’t just a sheep or a cow it was a 55kg ewe, averaging 110% lambs per year, producing 4.5kg of wool and consuming 570kg of Dry Matter/year. The return on a kg of DM averaged 12 cents for sheep compared to 60 cents for dairy cows. Feed budgeting (how many kg DM to feed each day) was the most important management practice. I love this sort of thing but couldn’t write fast enough to take it all in.

My second visit was to another very successful farmer that relied much more on his gut and his innate stockmanship. I know many excellent farmers in Scotland that go on feel rather than figures and it was actually comforting to meet someone like this in New Zealand. I almost expected every farmer to know the number of blades of grass on his farm aswell as the energy and protein values per inch of leaf, such was my perception of this country. The two others were true gents and really interested in the conundrum of first generation farmers ... who weren’t in dairying. It was done in the past through shearing or mustering their way in but those days are gone. There was a stage between the late 60s and early 80s where there was ballot farming, which involved government land being balloted for new entrants. Now it seems to be a first generation sheep farmer you need to milk cows for 10 years as penance.

The other thing that struck me was the use of the hills. Fertiliser and clover seed were a major input onto hill land (usually by air) up to 3000 feet. Hill improvement through reseeding was common place. The hills were of true worth and vital in supporting a 5,000 to 10,000 stock units per labour unit ratio and making stations viable. Of course back home we can’t do anything to our hills, that said they’re not exactly near Bordeaux!

One more thing - there’s no money in sheep in New Zealand or at least it seems to be struggling. Deer pay best (venison to Germany plus velvet), then sheep, then beef cows. Don’t worry, I’m not going to start deer farming, at least not yet.

PS the photo is of Perindale ewes on the Remarkables Station. The stock were remarkable too - no pigs though which was disappointing.

Gate SIX ......

2010-07-12T13:22:00.002+01:00

One of the many things Lynton Arney (the nice breeder of nice Border Leicesters in SA) passed on to me was a quote: “Never underestimate a farmer’s powers of observation; but be cautious of his powers of interpretation.” He was talking about sheep and EBVs but lets take this a bit wider....

Now I’m not sure if I can really call myself a farmer yet but the trip from Sydney to Queenstown saw two instances of the caution with which I should treat myself:

“This is your captain speaking, just to say we have on board the most modern navigation system on the market, state of the art and we will be using this to land at Queenstown.” OK, firstly why say this unless there is an issue - it would have been far better to say nothing. My interpretation of the statement was - ‘we need all the help we can get and it still might not be good enough’. I instantly remember an ex of my brother who was an air hostess admitting even she freaked out landing at Queenstown. We flew in between imposing (and close) mountains, over the huge (and deep) lake and the navigation system was working sufficiently hard on our behalf. It was never really going to be a problem ... though i did kiss the tarmac on landing!
The New Zealanders speak very differently to the Australians (I know I should know this already but I was finally observant on landing). They have an alternative usage of vowels. Especially unnerving is their pronunciation “i”s as “e”s and vice versa. The first tannoy annoncement I heard, for a few weird seconds, appeared to end as follows “...would all pissengers proceed to great sex”.

Observation and correct interpretation are two very different things!

Sydney State of Mind ......

2010-07-12T12:45:00.005+01:00

Spent a long weekend with my brother (Hamish) in Sydney and his wife Susan, my neice and nephew. My brother is my oldest friend but we are both equally useless at keeping in regular contact.

I talked corporate finance with stockbrokers with 8 hours drinking under their belts (my chat was on fire as you can tell - see picture: left to right is Blanchie (Hamish); Blanchie (Bearded - looks good doesn’t it? (cough cough) - and obviously slightly sweaty); Walshie and Clarkie - stockbrokers just add “ie” to the end of a surname it appears. You can see I was using my own personal style to secure financial sector funds.

Saw the best example of meat marketing .. like .... ever .... at Victor Churchill’s butcher shop (yeah, I don’t get out much but see second picture). Hamish beat me at golf and also at the game we play - how long can you go without catching a fish before you give up.

The last night in Australia I sat in a glass fronted restaurant, with the part of my family I see far too seldom, over looking Bondi Beach with a cold beer in hand. Admist the screaming and vomit (Hamish, not neice and nephew... ho ho). I pondered on what had just been these last few weeks as I watched an archetypal symbol of Australia meet the wider world (beach meeting sea - still need to work on those analogies!). As the Tasman stroked Australia it was also stroking the land of the long white cloud and the next day - by the power of Quantas - I’d be meeting New Zealand too. Its the place of worship for many a sheep farmer lets see if I get born again. Thanks Australia and all those I met - you have taught me well!

Generation Next ......

2010-07-12T12:35:00.004+01:00

I was priviledged to meet two genuine first generation farmers in South Australia. Both were almost twice my age (I like to think); both had started with a big block of scrub and not a lot else but now I was meeting their sons who had built upon the land their fathers had cleared and apon the hardship their fathers had endured. These land clearers didn’t just start at square one it was almost off the board, in the margins, square zero. Both sons had built hugely upon their fathers work - one in sheep, the other mainly with pigs.

The second generation have built the on the efforts of the first. The sheep man managed his debt so that it never increased, servicing it through excellent production practices and also using these proceeds to invest in drainage and clay spreading (on his running sand soils) that transformed the productivity of the land. These practices combined with the natural increase in land values has seen his equity increase dramatically.

The pig man was a revelation. He was one of the very few I’ve met who has increased a significant proportion of his equity through production. He borrowed big and seemed to have balls of brass but he was able to service and reduce this debt through the cashflow a 1000 finished pigs a week provided. He was an innovator and an early adopter. He concentrated on systems rather than procedures and was the first in Australia to farrow, wean and finish in strict batches, his inexpensive growing sheds reduced capital input (see picture) and his farrowing shed was state of the art. He had expanded when others thought it was crazy but he trusted his gut then referred to his head for an objective opinion and has thus far ridden the market fluctuations incredibly well through his expansions to 1800 sows. He may have taken risks but he made sure big risks were of low risk by doing things exceptionally well.

It has been apparent since Washington that Cash is King and given the problems getting hold of land, an intensive enterprise needs to be considered seriously in order to build a farm business of true worth. I have been talking to a company that would want up to 70 finished pigs a week but are quite happy for me to start at as little as 18 gilts. A gilt is just over £200 and promises to give me 20 odd pigs per year; compare this to a gimmer at over £120 to provide 1.5 lambs a year. Obviously what life I have will be taken away from me and cash outflow would induce long periods of buttock clenching; but maybe this is a true opportunity. It would be a vertical learning curve but I have a market and should just work backwards. I am seriously considering this - am I mental? Must go - the yellow van is here to pick me up.

Here comes the science part - concentrate.....

2010-07-06T09:53:00.001+01:00

There are only two ways to build an agricultural business - 1) production - profit and cash generation and 2) real estate - growing values of property. That’s it, simple as, QED.

This is the constant theme I am finding. Some of you may point out that this theory belongs in the file marked “The Bleedin’ Obvious” right next to the one marked “No poo poo, Sherlock”, but it is really interesting to see these methods employed in an individual’s story and how they inter-relate given different economic conditions.

One of my visits in South Australia was to a man who started out with what would have been barely a five figure sum in pounds sterling and now must have a business worth tens of millions. Through a small family loan, the home farm acting as guarantor and vendor finance (the common practice of the seller of the farm being paid off over a number of years); he managed to purchase his first 900 acres. In the first seven years his business grew 25 times and has continued to expand. He now has over 10,000 acres, most of which is good quality arable ground.

How did he do this? There will be some reasons that would be only obvious if you were there with him along the way - he is obviously an exceptional operator and focused on the essential detail that is crucial to high efficiency. But also what was important was:

he bought land at, or below, productive value - in the past, as a rule of thumb, this would mean grossing the land’s value in three to five years from production; but this has reduced to an 8- 10% return on capital target. Did some quick figures on this and an acre of land that might support 4 ewes should really be worth £1,000 to £1,800 in the UK (conveniently ignoring SFP and wintering issues)!!!!
he was bold (procrastination is very dangerous) in his risk taking but crucially managed that risk incredibly well. He transformed alot of land with flood irrigation capability and managed flooding and salination issues through drainage. These works on their own increased the value of the land considerably but also ensured production and hence cash generation. He questioned the theory that you can’t manage the weather - he has by ensuring a minimum of 60% of potential production when there would have been nothing following extreme weather events.
the two biggest effects on his business, cost him nothing except courage. He implemented a totally different way of managing his staff that ensured they had status, satisfaction and security. The responsibility to achieve tasks was all theirs and also judged by their peers. He plotted a graph of his net worth and at the point he implemented this, the line increased sharply. Later he set up a board to run his business, all decisions were made by the board that didn’t include him or his sons! The board was made up of trusted people and the family could make a case for an action but it had to be researched to death and very persuasive - again at the point this was implemented the line of Net Worth increased.

From being a bit over-obsessed with “heart” as an essential to first generation farming, this visit really emphasised to me the need for “head” usage in decision making. Maybe the heart could be the engine but the head the steering wheel, accelerator and even handbrake .... mmm - need to work on my analogies.

Sheep ..... probably the best animal in the world...

2010-07-04T08:36:00.004+01:00

A huge proportion of my followers (50% of all two of them) have requested more detail on the sheep that I’ve come across here. Always keen to respond quickly to feedback, I have waited a week and finally got round to this - this ones for you Timothy....

Damarra and Dorper - wool shedders. The Damarra is a fat tailed sheep that isn’t too popular with processors as a pure bred. It is smaller than the dorper, hardy and has the ability for polyoestrus (Sp?) lambing (ie twice a year) I hope I’ve attached a photo of some cross Damarras; the Dorper - I saw mostly white faced - is a big sheep with a good carcass. A cross of the two is common with Garry Hannigan really pleased with a Dorper (50%); Damarra (25%) and Wiltshire Horn (25%) cross. Amazingly for all you Wilt breeders out there (Ok lets be honest that just means Tim...) the Wiltshire was added to increase prolificacy!!!! He was also using Meatmasters which from a hazy memory were cross Dorper/Damarras.

Though the Merino still rules in the pastoral country of the Outback there is a big shift toward the wool shedders. A Merino can add $15-20 of wool and $7-14 for its skin but its labour demands, huge risk of flies and poorer meat product make shedders a more attractive option in rangeland Australia due to the logistics and costs of mustering. This step change in production was symbolised by the Browns at Reola station home to one of the biggest and efficient wool sheds in Australia. It has the capability to allow shearing of 2,800 ewes a day. The Browns have since gone 90% toward wool shedders and the wool shed lies quiet for most of the year.

The Australian sheep flock has reduced from 180 million ewes to under 80 million and as a result their lamb price is probably better than ours ($120 for decent 50kg lambs). But down in South Australia pure Merino and first cross Merino ewes (with Border Leicester, White Suffolk or Poll Dorset) are almost the only way to go. Easier managed country and the financial importance of wool and Merino type skins make it the logical choice.

Graham Clothier at Lucindale taught me alot in terms of focusing on the essentials and keeping systems simple. Feed according to need, ensure good shelter to limit post lambing mortality and get as many lambs out of them as possible. This seems obvious but Graham was doing things beyond what I had actually considered. He also took me to Naracoorte market which was a bit different to UA Stirling! (see left)

I did go and see the the Breed president of the Wiltipolls near Strathalbyn. Wiltipolls are Wiltshire Horns crossed with a polled breed followed by four back crosses, with only the hornless selected (see below left). If you thought it was impossible to improve on a Wiltshire Horn, this is it and the yellow van will be coming to get you very soon using the Mental Health Act as an enforcement tool.

On my last visit in South Australia, I met an interesting man (Lynton Arney) who bred Border Leicesters - like our Border Leicesters but they looked far less like rabbits exposed to unhealthy levels of radiation. His branding was really impressive (sweatshirts, caps and even cooking aprons) and his method of client care - genuine but not intrusive; factual rather than hype - seemed really effective.

I am sorry for my poor photo placement and quality but I cannot accept liability for any dissatisfaction on anyones part especially those that play the banjo and are from Wiltshire.

Broken Hill killed a radio star ....

2010-07-03T09:10:00.003+01:00

If we all get 15 minutes of fame in this life I have now officially only got 9 minutes left. Garry Hannigan at Churinga contacted ABC Broken Hill to say a Nuffield Scholar was in town. The next day the Western Division of New South Wales was exposed to a live six minute radio interview with Michael Blanche talking, what can only be described as, “mince”. Ami the interviewer (see picture) was very nice - I hate to think what would have happened if I had had the Australian version of Paxman.

I mentioned “heart” as a key to progression for first generation farmers - I thought this sounded good so I then continued to repeat this over and over again, proving that really I should have engaged another organ (between my ears) to be fully comprehensible. Anyway I have employed the maxim learnt from the Brumbie Runner “Always look forward, if you look back you’ll just trip up”. Still can't help cringing a bit though!

Maybe size does matter.....

2010-07-02T16:41:00.000+01:00

Theory 1

It pains me to say it but size is important afterall! In the Outback its generally seen that 10,000 ewes per man is the rule of thumb. Dirk Stevens near Broken Hill managed 12,000 on 3 properties over at least a 400km radius (and he was still sane and very amusing). With 10,000 a couple of bikes, a “ute”, maybe an old tractor and a grader (for the tracks) might be the sum of the plant and machinery. Admittedly lambing is seen as the one time you need to stay away from stock (thanks to the tradition of natural selection - there was an incredulous reaction to UK sheep farmers being so interventionist and making lambing a self-perpetuating problem)! No drenching or vaccines are usually required and mustering of each mob only takes place three to four times a year. All this said there has to be a lesson learnt here!

Theory 2

“What’s to be, is within me”. My first visit was to Tony and Meredith Thomson near Bourke. Tony had amazing vision and was working on really radical stuff on his sheep. He was absolutely brilliant but the one time I thought he might lose patience with me was when I mentioned that the system needed to change in the UK. I got the impression throughout this first week, that whinging about the system is probably the biggest social faux pas you can fall into - first rule of first generation farming club: its up to you and no one else!

Theory 3

Adapt and Innovate. The rise of the wool shedding meat sheep and the fall of the Merino was a real trend I saw. Poly-oestrus lambing (twice per year - heaven forbid) made 100% lambings into 180%. The harvesting of feral goats at tiny cost kept families. All these were intuitive farmers making the most of what their available resources and climate could offer.

Theory 4

Never take things seriously. Joe Baty the Brumbie Runner would sack musterers if they weren’t funny. It was not only good to have a laugh - it was compulsory.

Theory 5

“How do you eat an elephant - one forkful at a time”. Set your goal, work out the tiny steps needed and start “eating”. Apologies to my many animal welfare activist followers for this analogy.

Theory 6

“Always look forward, if you look back you’ll trip up”. When you take a hit don’t dwell on it, dust yourself down, probably mutter something related to XXXX it and go again.

Theory 7

Its all about heart. I thought that was a given for me, but it hasn’t been tested as much as those that live in this corner of the world.