Trinny is sick. Trinny needs to go to tractor hospital. So today she went on a road trip. It was her first time on the public highway, using gears that she never knew she had.
I followed behind in the car just in case she couldn’t go the distance, keeping my hazards flashing as car, after car, after van, after van, overtook us. Surprisingly there were no horn blasts or rude gestures. Everyone in Wales is used to encountering tractors on a highway, both with and without stinky trailer dribbling animal wee onto the road.
I chuntered along, bringing up the rear and never getting out of 2nd gear, sometimes simply coasting along in neutral and still catching her up. Unfortunately for Dave, a long journey on Trinny’s bouncy seat with minimal padding and dodgy suspension is not good for the back.
On our arrival at tractor hospital, Trinny met some fellow sick and aging tractors – she drew nose to nose with her own kind and I had a Thomas the Tank Engine moment. Trinny was handed over into the care of John Pickering, a man with a very English sounding name but a very Welsh sounding voice, and an ability to converse at length about shafts and oiling without so much as a smirk.
Fingers crossed that it’s not terminal and that John the tractor surgeon is a damn sight cheaper than Colette the vet.