Everyone’s a critic (06:51 from Tiverton, reprise)

I find myself once again on the early train to Paddington, gazing out of the window as other people’s land flies by. Farmers spend an awful lot of their time checking out what their neighbours are up to … are their sheep doing better than mine? Have they got their silage in yet? How many bales did they make this year? I am no different, mentally critiquing as we rush along.

Not impressed with that hedge-laying, more like hedge-murdering.

Wow, nice house of bales for those lucky red piggies; very practical and easy to dispose of at the end of the season, but not cheap with the daft price of straw these days.

That chap’s sheep aren’t going to stay in his field for much longer if he doesn’t sort out that fence.  

Those rams have been busy, all of the ewes have got red bums.

Wiltshire parkland is stunning; the cows look very happy under the enormous trees.

Won’t be much grass left soon if someone doesn’t move along that herd of deer.

Winter wheat shoots already flushing green in that field!  

Bloody hell, that swan almost flew into the window - forgot how big they are close up.

The autumn colours are amazing - yellow larches and poplars, purple reeds, chocolate soil, henna bracken, and more hips than you could shake a stick at.

Horses really do make a landscape more beautiful; Alice Walker was right.

Llamas - why?

And just outside Pewsey, a fat sheep dead on her back with all four legs in the air - a tad embarrassing.