farmhouse kitchen, polished gold hangs on rich leather straps from white painted walls. He is farming stock. Inherited milk business and books on keeping horses from his dad, who kept stables until he could afford a small van in the sixties. Sold stables and horses. His son rides with the hunt now amid scowls and jeers from protesters. Once a pig farmer, lately returned to long haul drive of arctics. Gold waistcoat and fine moleskin trousers polished up a treat like his brasses. Twice divorced he says “I stand no nonsense.”
The Wombwell Rainbow 