Peter Rhodes on food portions, farm finances and mouse prints in the frying pan
That, presumably, was summer. I sat out one evening, necking a particularly fine vintage of Frosty Jack's and watching a combine harvester, big as a battleship and twice as noisy, bringing in the harvest half a mile away.
I've never understood the finances of farming. First you spend £850,000 on a harvester. Then you reap a field of grain which is turned into flour to make buns. Then the bun people pay you enough to pay for the combine and deliver a profit, too. Beyond me.
***
I was struck by the dead-cool first name of the teenager who filmed a light aircraft which crash-landed on the A40 a few days ago: Vesper. I bet he's always telling people not to spell it Vespa.
***
