DRESSED to the nines, John and I set off for an elegant lunch to which I had been invited and at which John was attending as my guest, and driver. After all, my plan was to down a glass or two of bubbly while scoffing the lunchtime delicacies.

Nearing a friend’s farm John suddenly suggested we pop in to collect a submersible pump that he had loaned to said friend. “It’s not covered in mud is it?" I enquired. After all John was in his best (in fact only) suit and I had even polished his shoes for him.

“Only take a minute,” he reassured me as we turned into our friend's lane, to be brought up short by a ewe, plus twin lambs happily grazing on the verge. “We had better put her back in that paddock,” John said as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Hop out and you can stop them getting onto the main road.” I may add I was in some teetering high heels and a tight skirt. Hopping out was not an easy task.

Fifteen minutes later and with me getting increasingly hysterical as time went by that we would be late for lunch, the darn sheep were still not back in their field.

Eventually the gate slammed shut and John patted me metaphorically on the head for a job well done. He would not have dared to actually pat me on my cranium, as I would have been tempted to whack him one for ruining my shoes.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get there on time,” he reassured me “and you know I’ve been wanting that pump back for a while.”

The incident reminded me vividly of one a few years ago, pre-mobile phones, when I had accidentally locked myself out of my car when checking a rattle in the boot.

I had stopped on a fairly deserted lane, left the keys in the ignition, checked in the boot and slammed the boot shut when I had secured the offending item. Only to hear a loud click as the car decided to lock itself in and lock me out.

After walking what seemed like miles, I knocked on a farm house door, explained my predicament and used their phone to ring home. Amazingly John was in and reassured me he would be with me as quickly as he could, which was two hours.

Apparently he had set off from home, realised when he was half-way to me that he had no diesel and turned round to fill up from the farm diesel tank rather than spend any money at a garage. Time can be of very little meaning to farmers.