IT is such a relief to see the cows back where they belong - in a field. There was of course the usual mad charge by the herd across the road to get from farm buildings to field.

Although we post an advance guard to watch out for motorists, ie. me with a stick, I am always worried that some headstrong driver will ignore both the 30mph limit, many do, and me and my frantic stick waving.

First of all come the cows. Heads down. Tails up. Strongly reminiscent of a stampede in an old cowboy movie. Plodding along at a faster pace than usual comes the bull, wondering what on earth is happening and why are all these women so het up. After all it's only a field. What's the hurry.

Then come the calves. All in a muddle. Bawling their heads off at the sudden disappearance of the mums. They set off in pursuit of the adults, then suddenly lose confidence and start milling around and even trying to get back into the yard.

It is then that you see John at his most belligerent. Arms waving. Voice bellicose. Language unprintable. But it does shock the calves into action and they too are soon chasing round checking out any possible escape routes from the field they have all just been desperate to get into.

All this action took place with the sole exception of one cow. She did not want to go out. Kept dodging past John when he tried to get her into the silage area with the rest of the herd so that they were ready for the off. Got quite nasty. Head down. Threatening to knock John over and trample him for good measure. So she had to stay in until the end of the day, by which time she was quite keen to join her calf and trotted quite amiably across the lane and into the field.

By bed time we decided that we could treat ourselves to an unbroken nights sleep. The pet lambs are big enough to do without their 2am feed and only a few gimmers are left to lamb.

At 2am I woke up with a start. Was I conditioned to feeding the lambs at this unearthly hour? No, I told myself, they’ll be fine. Go back to sleep. But I couldn’t. And I realised, John was awake too.

Gradually we both recognised that a light strobing outside and a bell ringing were not imaginary, but actually were a light and an alarm. An alarm system, discontinued more than 20 years ago had decided that this was the moment for its final swansong. It had woken not only us, but probably half of the village too.

“I don't know how to stop it,” I remonstrated when John showed no immediate signs of quitting our nice warm bed. “You'd better go.”

Ten minutes later, and with lights and bells still going, I heard John's footsteps cross the attic bedrooms and into the loft space. Where he cut the alarm's wires off in their prime. Better luck tonight with an uninterrupted sleep.