The lad had sorted the awkward gate before I came out this morning. Our son, I mean, who has been working here five years and doesn't need his father checking every hinge. I was pleased with it, properly pleased, then heard myself asking why he'd put the catch on that side. His face changed a little. Nothing said beyond that. I've been annoyed with myself since, which isn't much use to either of us. I did go back and tell him it shuts well. He said he knew. Fair enough. Having him here is what I wanted, but I don't always sound like a man who's got what he wanted.

I've been looking again at the grazing figures my son left on the kitchen table. I know which fields carry well in a poor year, but he wants us to write down what we actually put in and take out instead of arguing from memory. My first thought was that it would make more work. Looking at one field on its own, I couldn't remember whether the extra feed had gone there or to the next lot of ewes. So the memory isn't quite the record I claim. I'll keep a note this time. It doesn't settle the whole scheme, and I still want to see the ground before I agree to anything on a screen.

Took the lower track home after checking the ewes, though it adds a bit. Coming straight down the steep ground has my knees sore before I reach the gate, especially when it's wet and I'm holding myself back with every step. The dog waited at the usual turning and looked put out by the change. Once I got moving along the flatter bit I was comfortable enough. Nerys says I could take the quad more, and of course I could, but then I spend the evening stiff from sitting on that instead. I had my boots off before the kettle boiled today. The mud can dry where it is for once.