Usually, a mention of the word ‘diversification’ was enough to spark a rant on its own. Tonight, Matt was abnormally subdued.

‘I don’t know if you remember Jack Firth, over near Chapel. It turns out he’d been running a nice little sideline, killing and burying unwanted greyhounds on his land. The rules say unwanted dogs should be euthanized by a vet, but breeders and trainers find that too expensive. It was much cheaper to use Jack’s services.’

‘What’s your point, Matt?’

‘He was meeting a demand, you see. It’s what the government wants us to do, find new ways of exploiting our assets, and providing services the public actually wants. Jack told me there are twenty-five thousand unwanted dogs produced every year by the greyhound racing business – dogs at the end of their racing lives, or that have never been particularly good in the first place. The rescue centres could never cope with that number, so Jack had found a niche market. His business would have been safe for years to come.’

‘Was he found out?’

‘Yes. But there was no evidence of cruel or inhumane treatment of the animals. Even when he was arrested, he could only be charged with failing to obtain the proper licences. He didn’t fill in the forms for the bureaucrats. So now he’s a criminal.’

It wasn’t quite what Ben had expected. But he could see that Matt had found an example of diversification that he’d be using for years to come, as a warning to others. Best to change the subject a bit.

‘Can you see a future for the girls?’ he asked. ‘They’ll want to go off and do their own thing when they grow up, won’t they?’

‘Well, I’d like at least one of them to be involved in farming. Our family have been farmers since the year dot.’

‘I know, Matt.’

‘I should think it’s ever since farming has existed. All right, the younger brothers and sisters have always had other jobs, like you. But if they haven’t had a farm themselves they’ve always been involved in some way. There’s got to be a couple of cows or a few sheep – it’s just a way of life. But young people need to believe they can make a living from farming, and they want to get some respect. Farmers feel like they’re regarded as the dregs. We can’t do anything right.’ He paused to take a long swig of beer. ‘And there are the marts.’

‘You mean Ashbourne?’

Ben knew the closure of Ashbourne cattle mart had been a blow for local farmers, though there was still Bakewell, and even Uttoxeter over the border in Staffordshire.