I t's strange the things you see when driving about. On motorways, you often see signs erected next to those overhead digital displays saying "this sign is not working". Stating the obvious!

Near here there is a level crossing with a road junction next to it, which causes a bit of congestion. There's a new sign there now: "Do not wait on the railway line." I suppose there must be some people who do!

Often, when going to evening meetings, I pass a sign that says "this road will be closed at midnight on such and such date". I often plan to return that way later, after midnight, but my problem is that I never know what the date is – I rarely even know the day of the week.

I always have problems taking calves to market. I put the stock trailer on, load the calves up and sometimes (but only sometimes) I check to see if the lights are working on the trailer. They rarely are.

Slow-moving Discovery's and trailers are never popular on busy A roads; big artic lorries harass you. You don't have to worry about if you've fastened the tail board properly although it couldn't come down anyway because the lorry behind is so close.

But if you really want to wind them up, turn off right without signalling. They don't seem to mind you sneaking off to the left because the annoyance at the lack of signal is moderated by the chance to get rid of you. Turn off right and they want to get out and fight you.

I tend to devise a sneaky route where the only right turn I make is a roundabout where my turn off is largely unnoticed because no one really knows what goes on at roundabouts anyway.

It has crossed my mind to reintroduce the world to hand signals but if I put the window down I can't get it back up again and if it's down at the market the dog will get out and I might lose him.

Nothing in my life is straight forward. You might think it's easier for me to get the trailer lights working again but there are nameless people on this farm, two in particular, who delight in driving about with the trailer on and the cable dragging on the floor. Half worn-out cables rarely work.

And it's another strange thing for people to see while driving about.

■ When I was telling you the other day about cutting thistles and other heavy undergrowth on the stubble I remember telling you it was a slow job.

Well, I did most of it on day one but popped back two or three times to finish it when I had an odd hour to spare.

It was during one of those brief visits that I spotted a lapwing chick moving about in the grass and weeds. I hadn't realised that there were lapwings up there this year.

I phoned the keeper to tell him but he already knew. He hasn't yet realised that no one likes a smart arse.

He said two pairs had been up there and there was the one chick I had seen and two chicks in the next field.

When I spotted the chick I had about two acres left to cut in two stripes. Mr Carrion Crow was patrolling up and down following the tractor, so I left the cutting alone.

I couldn't do anything about the carrion crow but I wasn't about to make it easier for him. I don't actually hate anything or anybody, but if I were to, carrion crows and magpies would be a good place to start.

I stayed away for two days hoping that this would be long enough for the lapwing to move her chick somewhere else. When I went back I cut at half the speed I had before, but I am fairly sure the chick had gone.

I suspect that you will have sensed that this 20 acres of weeds I grow every year goes against a farmer's instinct, and it does. Largely because it seems to be such a waste when the birds it is supposed to encourage are themselves being decimated by an over-population of winged predators.

But having seen the chick goes a long way towards making it all worthwhile. It would be so much more worthwhile if someone was to do something about the crows, magpies and buzzards that are about.

I gave the chick every chance I could but the odds are, at present, heavily stacked against it.

I took my daughter and her two children to the zoo last week – it was their idea, not mine.

It was all right, sort of, just too many other people there for my liking. There were thousands and thousands of them, so you had to queue to see everything and it was all just too busy.

I'm struggling to write this, by the way, as I fell over at a party on Saturday, as you do, and bent my gasses badly.

I took the same grandchildren to a safari park earlier in the year and have to say you see more of the animal there – though obviously a lot less species. But you are in your own space when you are in the car and the experience is a lot more private.

In compound after compound the animals were as far away from humans as they could get and I have to say I didn't blame them – in fact, I would have liked to join them.

There was a sort of role reversal going on in the monkey house, for example, where an endless procession of humans of all ages push slowly past, each one seemingly burdened by a pushchair, and the monkeys sit and watch them and I wondered just who was watching who and who had got it the right way around?

I'm almost as fascinated by the humans as the animals and the animals are watching the humans at their leisure – they haven't paid to do it.

They may be confined in their lives but they don't have to worry about predators because they are safely in the next compound.

I also noticed that of all the men wearing short-sleeved shirts I was the only one without a tattoo on his arm. I felt a bit stigmatised and wished I'd worn a long-sleeved shirt.