His father once told him, “Son, farming is in your blood.” 🌾 He believed it with everything he had. At 26 he took over the family farm — young, hopeful, and ready to work harder than anyone who came before him. He kept that promise for fifteen years. Now he’s 41 and looks a decade older. His hands are split and calloused from the cold. His back seizes up every morning before the day even starts. He’s missed birthdays, school plays, family dinners and anniversaries that can never be replayed. Every Sunday night his wife does the accounts at the kitchen table. Last Sunday she sat there for a long time without speaking. Then she looked up. “We’re forty thousand pounds down this year.” After fifteen years of early mornings and late nights, diesel has doubled, fertiliser is up 60%, electricity has tripled… and the price he receives for his wheat is almost exactly what it was in 2015. He is not lazy. He is not incompetent. He is not failing. The system is failing him. And every Sunday night his wife still sits at that same table, staring at numbers that only ever seem to get worse. How long before Britain loses an entire generation of farmers who simply can’t afford to carry on?