IT took three-and-a-half hours for us just to get to the start of the March for Liberty and Livelihood and another two-and-a-half hours to complete it. And in all that time never once did anyone push, jostle or complain. Even the policemen and women we saw along the route looked as though they were ready to drop off to sleep with the lack of action and response coming their way. It was one of the best days out I have ever had.

Our coach came home 18 hours after setting off for London with us all hoarse with shouting and whistling, stiff and achy from sitting on the bus and walking on the tarmac streets, but absolutely revved up with excitement and longing to go again if this march proves inconclusive. As a number of protesters' banners said: "Next time we'll march on a weekday." We were like big kids spotting celebrities and well-known faces along the route.

The only faces we did not see were those of the politicians. The windows lining Whitehall, Downing Street and the cabinet office were blank. The message - "If we ignore them perhaps they'll go away."

For a time, we walked beside a Welsh choir. Stirring stuff. Another time, the bagpipes skirled. There was even a troupe of circus performers, their banner proclaiming their support for the countryside. Every one of them attracted huge cheers, applause, whoops, hollers and whistles of appreciation.

Back at home, the family stayed on farm guard. Their responsibilities were to ensure that none of the sheep and cattle went walkabout, and that the poultry was put away before the much-feted foxes put them away themselves. When you consider that for all the people on the march, as many would be at home on watch, the support for the countryside, its traditions and economy is even stronger. Mr Blair Beware, as so many of the placards stated.

The shearlings that we bought at the farm sale last week have settled in well. We are still on the look-out for some good tups as we are down to one Suffolk tup and Mr Laid Back himself, the Texel. "Why haven't you sent him to market yet," I asked John. "He wasn't any good at producing lambs, it's not like you to keep something that is not productive." Me being the exception of course.

"Well I've got used to having him around," John answered. "He keeps Rupert (our old horse) company, doesn't cost anything to keep and the other tup would miss him."

Such sentiment. Not the hard-nosed approach and uncaring attitude that farmers are normally represented by. When I look around, we are carrying a few old guys and gals that in strict economic terms should have been off down the road a long time ago. One of the cows redeems herself every year by just managing to be attractive enough to the bull to get herself in-calf the month before John plans to send her to the abattoir. Two ewes have sneaked past the annual sort-out and stayed in the flock without any progeny for the last year. Several old Muscovy drakes continue to make a nuisance of themselves around the yard, especially by perching on visitors' cars, when they have no right to be here and neither have the gang of totally redundant bantie cockerels. The chief swinger is Rupert himself. Thirty years old at the turn of the year and top apple thief; scrawny, shaggy, selfish and spoilt.

It's getting to be a farm for the infirm. No wonder I love it.

Updated: 10:18 Wednesday, September 25, 2002