Watermill's bright idea is preservation catastrophe

It is announced that there are now a dozen horrendously expensive steers grazing the field for which he paid no fewer than #140 an acre, for the summer's rent.

The stots cost 105p per kilo, which, with fat cattle averaging 87p in Scotland, looks far too high. But then again, each beast carries one subsidy - each is on a blue.

If I get that subsidy, and if it is #60 a head and if I remember to claim it, the cost will fall to 92.5p, if the price doesn't weaken, and if the stots I've bought are up to average standard.

What a way to invest the retirement fundie!

The Breadwinner is furious. She spends hours, when she's not out earning bread, pouring over the Financial Times looking for the best rates of return on the fundie. She's the only depositor I know who actually negotiates with bankers over an extra quarter-of-a- percent.

''And you! What do you do? You go into Scotland's fastest-falling market and buy a dozen pigs in pokes.''

''Well, it's better than the National Lottery,'' I say sulkily.

''At least with the cattle there's no chance of your life being spoiled by a big win. And you can't take a stroll with your best girl of an evening through a pile of lottery tickets.''

That softened her a bit.

I can't say that Mossie is the greenest of farmers. He does love nature but that's mostly for shooting. In truth, he doesn't really know what people mean by ''green'' farming.

Take his new piggery, for example. It is the last word in modern technology. It has underfloor heating. It has windows from which the pigs have commanding views of Bennachie on fine days. In most days they can't see much as there are automatic blinds which close in response to cold.

All feeding is automated and there are sow stalls. The piggies range free over the slats and the heated floors.

''Oh yes,'' says our man. ''You've got to be green these days. That's why I've painted the shed green.''

Despite that level of ignorance Mossie has now got a remarkable conservation project.

It's in the moss from which Moss-side gets its name. For years our man tried to drain this, to plough it and to add to the grain mountains from the moss. But nature beat him. Eventually it had to go to permanent setaside.

A plantation of willows in the wettest bit and he soon provided a wonderful opportunity for wildlife.

There were roe deer in that little copse last year and yellow hammers from it all but did away with his crop of sunflowers. A few hours with a digger made a duck pond and island in the middle.

It was heartwarming.

But this year's deluges have moved the moss up into another level.

At least the water is at a higher level. There's five acres at up to five feet deep.

Now the Moss-side Sea has attracted a colony of blackheaded gulls. It's not like a farm any more. It's more like being down at Fraserburgh when the herring boats come in.

I'm not that hot when it comes to estimating numbers of cattle in a field so I'm pretty poor on gulls. But there are not fewer than 400 nesting pairs there now.

They are turning the whole moss white, especially the little island where the only black to be seen now is the gulls' heads.

When I was a lad we used to roam the clifftops collecting gulls' eggs at this time of year. Some went to great lengths to climb up to get eggs to sell to the bakery trade for what seemed like a

fortune.

So, of course, I thought Mossie was on to another winner. There could easily be a tonne of gulls' eggs there now. But, more interference, gulls are protected birds now. All Mossie can harvest is the guano.

But it's not just gulls. The ducks have had a wonderful breeding season and several litters, or coveys or whatever, of mallard are preparing themselves for the shooting season.

There are also two pairs of cootes which are not common hereabouts.

Not so long ago Aberdeenshire farmers would have looked at the Moss-side Sea and seen only a blocked drain. Now the possibilities are endless. Mossie is looking into fishing and watersports. And a great bonspiel is planned for next January.

Not all my pals have been doing good things for the environment this week. Not Watermill anyway.

He had had a hellova night out and just to show them that he could take it he would be up early and off to the mart.

Better than that, he'd get his wheelie bin out to the end of the road before they were even up. He attached the bin as usual to the back of the Range Rover and set off.

Unfortunately, it is fully 300 yards to the end of the road where the bins are collected and, what with the fog in his brain, which most certainly was not due to a hangover, and his concentration not being 100% despite his good intentions, Watermill quite forgot about the bin.

Until he got to the mart, that is. There he observed that the handle was the only bit of the bin which had managed to keep up.

He was able to see the rest on his way home, though. There was a trail of litter and bits of broken wheelie bin that led right home to Watermill.

His wife was not as impressed as he had hoped.