The weather, a fleeing driver and captive police officers led to a dramatic week at the farm on the M62

Water, water everywhere and mud, so much mud. Most of our drive has disappeared downhill leaving great trenches criss-crossing our only way out. A great pile of stone is now mounded up at the bottom with smaller gravel strewn down the first part of the tarmac drive.

We’ve watched in horror as high-sided wagons have battled their way across the moors, swaying precariously whilst trying to stay upright. I really feel for the drivers, it must be terrifying sat at the wheel of one of those. The wind has found its way into our house, cold air seeps through any nook and cranny, leaving us all huddled around the log burner.

As I discovered on a particularly wild night, there is absolutely nothing funny about the cellar door suddenly bursting open followed by an eerie scream of wind as you’re sat watching Call The Midwife.

I sat paralysed in my chair wondering what creature was going to loom up and out of the cold, damp recesses of our cellar.

When the icy blast finally became unbearable, Paul begrudgingly prised himself out of his chair. After several minutes he returned with a hammer and a handful of six-inch nails. Several minutes of banging and the cellar door was going nowhere.

“Job done,” he muttered and sat back down.

We had a slightly disconcerting visit from the police one morning in the middle of the first storm. It was impossible to hear what the nature of the call was, snippets of words came through on the gate intercom, most were lost to the wind.

Paul let them in, keen to find out the urgency of their visit. Following an accident on the motorway, the driver of one of the vehicles had fled the scene and was last spotted heading in the direction of our farm. It was unclear as to whether or not he was involved in a high-speed chase involving the police, escaped prison or just fled the scene of an accident.

Whatever the reason Paul left them to it as he was needed elsewhere. It was several hours later that he remembered our new and improved security was, in fact, holding the police prisoners at our farm.

There is no intercom button on the outgoing post so they had no way of asking Paul to open the gates. A quick look at the camera on his phone revealed the hostages sat staring at the gates. He quickly released them and slid his phone back in his pocket!

We heard nothing more about the escapee which was rather worrying. That evening as I checked the cows and my Blue Faced Leicester ewes, who are due to lamb next week, I wondered if I was about to stumble across one of Britain’s most wanted.

But the only beady eyes watching me were those of Wilma’s, one of our Teckels, who was busy on ratting duties.