The supermarket was once a place of quiet where I could lean on a trolley for a while, free of sheep, cow or horse dramas - Jill Thorp

Whilst I wish my house was full of Bruder implements and Peppa Pig was still playing on the TV, his dad is counting down the days to when John-William can drive the tractor.

It isn’t just toys that get outgrown and the last couple of weeks have shown us just how painful growing up can be. I’ve been trying to gently broach the subject of ponies with him recently, calmly explaining that whilst he grows at an alarming rate, his ponies don’t and that this would be his last year with his beloved Bren.

He’d been quite horrified at first but as his fast-moving ambitious adventures in the saddle were exceeding those of Bren’s capabilities, he’d gradually accepted that he wouldn’t be with us forever.

Somewhat sooner than I’d anticipated, a super pony, one that I had been admiring for some time, was offered to us. We went to see him and after watching John-William ride, I knew he was the one.

It took several attempts for me to write the sale advert for Bren, overwhelming guilt and sadness washed over me and tears flowed freely. I scanned through countless photos of the two of them and for a while got lost down memory lane.

So many happy moments, endless smiles and triumphs, with quite a few tears of disappointment mixed in. Eventually, however, I put pen to paper, chose some of my favourite photos and the ad was done.

Whilst caught up in our rollercoaster of emotions over Bren, the country was slowly but rather alarmingly descending into a state of anarchy.

The supermarket, once a place of quiet where I could lean on a trolley for a while, free of sheep, cow or horse dramas has now become a place of aggression and utter stupidity.

The shame of doing the pre-lambing time shop is real. No more stocking up and piling the trolley high, confiscated goods at the checkout only adding to the humiliation.

With this struggle in mind I’d advised Paul to start buying a few things every time he stopped at the garage for fuel. Things that we would need at lambing time, tins of soup, beans.

Essentials to keep us going.

No food appeared for some time, until one night he came home triumphantly clutching a box.

“Well, I’ve done as you said, I’m stocking up on essentials.”

He gleefully tossed a packet of club biscuits my way, an out-of-date one I might add. In fact, the entire box was full of club biscuits.

“They were selling them off cheap at the garage – bargain,” he announced.

John-William’s face lit up. “Well done dad, good idea” he said.

I stood staring in dismay as the two of them smiled inanely at one other. I guess we won’t run short of biscuits!