Sarah Todd: Perfecting our model farm offers break from life’s imperfections

They are all neatly laid out on the floor next to my desk.

Sometimes, as the words fail to flow for this column, there’s a very strong temptation to kneel down and re-jig a few jumps or put another round bale of hay out in the feeder.

There’s a familiarity about many of the items, like the Rice front unload trailer, as they belonged to my childhood farm.

The longevity of some of the models is beyond belief. Many of them are made by the firm Britains and, apart from the odd missing tail or leg, everything – even though they’ll be 30-odd years old – is in pretty much pristine condition.

The fencing makes me smile as it’s just like most “proper” farms. There are bits that look new and in really good condition and then the odd piece that’s a bit bodged-up, not quite matching.

We had some campers over the holiday weekend and one observed, “I see you’re wearing your farmer’s belt”. He was referring to the baler band, or Massey Harris as my friend insists on calling it, tied around my middle. It wasn’t to hold the trousers up (baggy waistbands would be something to show off rather than pull in) but to tie-up a gate. The old mare is always rubbing her great fat backside against them and, knowing my luck, without a preventative bit of band, the sneck will lift and she’ll be off down the road.

Her insurance came up for renewal and was such a rip-off. Because of her age she’s of no monetary value and so the only cover needed was public liability, in case she does escape or clip a car out on the road. The premium was ridiculous. It’s the same with the dog.

We don’t want any fancy vets’ fees cover, just a little peace of mind in case he ran in front of a car and caused some damage. However, it’s proved impossible to find this bare minimum of cover.

This, for me, is the appeal of the children’s farm. They have every animal, building and piece of machinery but none of the headache that goes with actually looking after and maintaining them.

With all the hassle of finding a new pony, our daughter in particular has become increasingly absorbed by the pretend farm. None of the horses here “stir porridge” with dodgy leg action, have ugly heads or bite and kick. They all do exactly what she wants them to do. One day they can be a top showjumper, the next they are busy rounding up the cows and then they’re training for a big race.

Excuse me a minute, our three-horse (with luxury-living accommodation) Mercedes horse wagon needs reversing up …