With almost two weeks of dry weather now and we have been able to catch up all of the farm jobs and even squeeze in a couple of days camping in the Forest of Dean.

With the dry weather predicted (correctly for once) well in advance by the Met Office I had already lined up all of the contractors for the hay and silage and we only had one last bout of rain on Monday the 20th to get through. But, oh boy, did it tip down. By mid-day the smallest Yurt had flooded and had to be evacuated and the campsite gateways were beginning to resemble Glastonbury. And then, like a tap, it stopped and the sun came out. By that evening the campers had begun smiling again, on Tuesday we cut a field for hay and on Thursday the big mowers came in to lay down 25 acres for silage.

Making hay in what is in effect early autumn is hard going. The days are shorter, the sun is cooler, the crop is heavier, and the mist and dew mean that there is only a few precious hours drying in each day. After six days of turning, the hay was just about fit to bale and thanks to an heroic effort by the whole family we managed to get it safely stowed away in the barn just in time to tackle the big bales on Monday.

Trying to shift 200 odd big round bales 3 miles up the road on a bank holiday Monday whilst there is a fun-day taking place in the village (with no other route for our trailers) was always going to be stressful. However, again with full credit to the team, we limped in at dusk with the bales all wrapped. A damage report revealed one knackered clutch, a snapped loader and my own John Deere unable to lift another bale due to lack of hydraulic oil.

A well earned break seemed in order; and so we packed up the tents and bikes and headed north to the Forest of Dean where my sister and her tribe reside in the heart of the woods.

This, I thought, would be a excellent chance to try out our recently purchased tandem that one of our neighbours had propped outside their house for £165 ovno. This had been to good to resist, and on the third passing I had knocked on the door and the appropriate number of notes had changed hands.

I don’t know if Mr Tandem had intended to invent a mechanical metaphor for marriage when he welded two old bike frames together - but that is just what he did. When you are in tune with your loved one (behind you of course, on the back seat), life fairly zips by with the minimum of effort. You are more than a match for any lone(ly) cyclist as the sum of your four legs, two hearts beating as one, and a magnificent machine is an unbeatable combination.

However, hit a bumpy patch and it can all go horribly wrong. You want to peddle – your better half doesn’t. You want the high road – she fancies the low. And after 10 miles, when the legs begin to ache and the seat feels like a lump of badly carved oak, little cracks and strains can begin to surface. All in all though, a wonderful contraption, and an excellent way to explore the many trails the forest had to offer.