MORE joyous family news this Christmas. Not only are we to be grandparents but also Jo, our youngest daughter, has got engaged.

John has known about it for a month, as Matthew, her new fiance, asked John's permission in November, but by a democratic and wise decision they decided not to tell me. "After all," as Matthew said, "there is no hope of it remaining a secret from Jo if you tell her mother first. And there is a distinct possibility of half the country knowing before Jo does." I think my prospective son-in-law has a good grasp of his prospective mother-in-law's traits.

Jo is blissfully happy, flashing diamonds in front of our eyes, and comparing carat sizes with her sister to see who has got the flashiest ring. And to think they only used to argue about who had the biggest portion of ice cream on their plate.

The main drama was provided by the Rayburn in the holiday cottage going out over Christmas. This was especially annoying as it had only just been serviced, and because the servicers only provided an answer-phone service. I had promised our guests a toasty Christmas, and instead risked freezing them.

Christmas and Boxing Day meals are a real reminder of the past year. As we tuck into the roast turkey and goose, we talk fondly of their first cheep out of the egg, initial fluffing out of their downy feathers, progression from chick crumb to turkey pellets and final journey to the dinner plate via the plucking shed.

"How can you do it?" friends ask, as they tuck into another slice of deliciously tender roast meat. "Doesn't it make you sad to eat something you have reared yourself."

Well, no it doesn't. We even eat every meal in the kitchen under the fond gaze of the portrait of a very favourite pig, Babe. And very tasty he was too.

At least we know where our meat has come from and that it has been reared to the highest welfare standards. If only more people in this country would only buy British meat, or insist that meat imports are raised to the same standards, we would probably never have had the foot and mouth epidemic in the first place. Even now, the meat imports are coming into Britain with no guarantee as to hygiene, welfare or disease free status.

My New Year's resolution is to try and source as many of my purchases from the United Kingdom as I reasonably can. I know I drive a Swedish car, but that is something I cannot do anything about, quickly, whereas I can make the effort with cheeses, vegetables, groceries and clothes.

We do run a continental breed of bull, a French Saler, but he was born and bred in England, and serves our Scottish breed Aberdeen Angus crosses. So I'll let myself get away with that one. One of the tups is French-bred, a Texel, but he has only survived because we couldn't move him under the FMD restrictions in our area, otherwise he would have gone long ago. His lamb count in comparison to our native Suffolk tups was 'execrable'.

John's New Year's resolution is to try and see if there is a business out of carving and making thumb sticks, crooks and walking sticks. Bud, the Jack Russell is to try and not pee up the table leg every time he walks past it and our oldest black Labrador, Jack's resolution is to try to make sure that he never gets moved from the rug in the kitchen by the Rayburn. Somehow, I think, he has already achieved his wish, and I'll wait to see if we achieve ours.

Happy New Year everyone.

Updated: 10:30 Thursday, January 03, 2002