We went to the farming sale of the century but left deflated - Jill Thorp

The little guy is of course at an age where he can eat his own body weight in chocolate Santa’s and ice cream with no tightening of the waist belt.

His entire Christmas break has been spent on his new bike, hurtling down the undulating meadows and building bigger and bigger ramps to launch himself over.

Donned with a new full-face helmet he seems to think he is indestructible and is becoming increasingly more fearless.

He took a brief break from his daredevil riding to join me on a trip up north to Carlisle to an eagerly anticipated sheep sale.

We headed up the day before so we could get a good look at what was on offer before the inevitable crowds descended the following day. It was a long and slow trip north with dense fog covering the northern Pennines and up over Shap summit.

With pen in hand we moved amongst the sheep admiring each and every one and after several hours had a long list of hopefuls.

With an early start the following day we made it to Carlisle in good time with high hopes of securing a new ewe for my Bluefaced Leicester flock.

Pulling into the already packed car park, however, our hearts sunk. Trailers stretched as far as the eye could see and the mart was heaving with people. It was to be expected.

A complete dispersal of the entire female side of one of the oldest and most influential flocks was always going to attract a huge crowd and as someone had correctly pointed out, it was to be the sale of the century.

By the time the first ewe entered the sale ring, there wasn’t a single spot to sit, stand or spectate. The atmosphere was electric and as bidding got under way, the excitement built.

Paul had decided at the very last minute to join us, but not through any interest in seeing the sale. He knew how desperately I wanted to secure some of these fantastic bloodlines and therefore in the interests of protecting his bank balance, had come along.

As the lots flew by, our hearts sunk as the realisation that we were completely out of our depth became more apparent.

People had flocked from far and wide for this sale and nothing was going to stop them from getting the ones they wanted.

It was a huge wake up call for us as we sat watching the prices go way above what we could afford and I felt so bitterly disappointed for the little guy sat next to me.

He bidded on the ones we wanted, his little arm held aloft, staring at me in desperation as the bids just kept coming in before finally slumping lower into his seat, accepting it wasn’t meant to be.

It was a long old journey back down the M6 with hardly a word spoken, a stark contrast to the morning’s excited chatter, with an empty trailer bouncing along behind us.