Apologies to any regular readers who were hanging on the result of our TB test for the cattle. We were (thankfully) given the all clear by the vet and (unlike some of our less fortunate neighbours) do not have to suffer the rigmarole of retesting ‘doubtful’ animals or worse actually losing some of the herd.

Our cows are predominantly Galloways – a wild and woolly breed from the South West of Scotland – and they are well suited to moorland life and more importantly met the criteria for attracting the old Hill Cow Subsidy which used to provide most of the profit on a cow in these Less Favoured Areas of the uplands.

The Hill Cow Subsidy was replaced (along with all of the other production subsidies) in the 2005 shake up of CAP (the European Common Agricultural Policy) and most of the incentive for keeping these less than commercial beast was gone forever.

However it was recognised by Natural England (the government quango with responsibility “to conserve and enhance the natural environment”) that some of these traditional breeds were vital conservation tools in looking after some of our more remote habitats and so they instigated a compensation package called the Tradition Breeds Initiative. This rewarded farmers for grazing sensitive sites with these native cows who have a deserved reputation for finding forage in the most inhospitable corners of scrub and wetlands.

So we duly signed up and kept our Galloways; and as there was no particular market I determined to keep the calves until they naturally reached their full maturity using nothing more than silage and poor quality grazing.

I can now claim to be a bit of an authority on this subject and can confirm that it takes over 4 years for a pure Galloway to reach his full potential in these circumstances. I can also tell you (we had one steer killed last week) that the result taste delicious and fatty and something for you to really get your teeth into.

There is however an unforeseen downside to my breeding policy. After several years we now have a gang of 35 Galloway youngsters of various ages who having spent one or more summers grazing distant areas of moorland out of sight of virtually any human contact have become more or less feral. And whilst the actual TB test was fine, our cattle handling pens (and ourselves) bear the scars of having to coerce this wild bunch through the ‘race’ (the post and rail corridor in which the cattle wait for their turn) twice in a week. To say that they had a smashing time would be understating it – by the time the last steer was tested there was a pile of splintered timber where the proud race had formally stood.

Still – I find revenge is a dish best served medium-rare with a béarnaise sauce!

Half term and just back from four days in and around Paris. Having managed to persuade the family during our French touring holiday in August it would be a very bad idea travelling overnight to spend one day in Disneyland, I had to relent and agree to a trip in the autumn.

My top tip for Disneyland is simply don’t go. However, if like me, you have failed to rule your family with a rod of iron and you find yourself outvoted, then I strongly advise you to pick up a copy of A Brit's Guide to Disneyland Resort Paris by Simon & Susan Veness. While I cannot share any of the couples enthusiasm for all things Disney – it proved to be a invaluable guide and we would have been wandering around like lost sheep without it.

I would like to say that the first two days we organised in Paris and Versailles were compensation for spending 48 hours chez Mickey & Minnie, but in truth we had to queue for an hour and a half to simply gain access to Louis XIV’s sumptuous palace (after first spending an hour and a half on the train getting there) and on the day in Paris we queued for a staggering two hours in order for the privilege of climbing up the first 375 steps of the Eiffel Tower. This meant that we didn’t have time for the Pompidou Centre and to cap a perfect day they changed the late night opening for the Louvre so that all that Cathy got in reply to her “Ou est la Mona Lisa” was “Sorry Madame, we are closed – come back on Wednesday.”

Still, this put us in good stead for the two days at Disneyland, where queuing is the order of the day. By the time they opened our first chosen ride (Thunder Mountain) there was already a 50 minute queue. 53 minutes later we staggered from our carriage with Cathy and I in mild shock and Churton screaming that he wanted to go home. The teenagers however were keen for more thrills and so the day developed into a routine of long queues followed by short burst of either excitement or disappointment. After about six hours of this I was grateful to sit down in the Silver Spur and, despite paying Michelin star prices for a Harvester style steak and chips, was sufficiently mellowed (after a bottle of Disneyland Merlot – who says they haven’t embraced French culture!) to face a couple more queues before retiring for the day.

Day two was saved by the lesser used (but in my humble opinion – vastly superior) Disney Studios Park, which instead of fairground thrills delivered its excitement through a series of experiences which were all linked to actual movie making. The stunt car demonstration was spectacular and the Sci-Fi Armageddon was so realistic that one child had to be let out of the simulation in hysterics. His annoyed parents obviously hadn’t read the warning signs on the door.

All in all though, the time passed pleasantly enough and that evening we were all aboard Eurostar for the long trek home. Our sleeper from London delivered us back to Bodmin at 6.30 in the morning and we were to be greeted at home by a letter from the State Veterinary Service stating that the farm from which we had purchased our new bull (see entry for 7th July) had gone down with TB (tuberculosis). We now await our routine TB test on Monday with some trepidation and our fingers firmly crossed – I have had quite enough excitement for one week.