The station waiting room was packed. There was a blockage on the north-bound line somewhere further up the line so all trains in the last hour were delayed so the station was filling with a backlog of frustrated commuters.

Two girls very noticeably stood out from the crowd. Both of them were blonde, both blue eyed, both tall, both dressed to kill, and both stunningly attractive.

I was an hour early so I made my wayto the coffee guy, grabbed a "dupio espresso", and squeezed myself into a seat at one of the tables to read my copy of The Times.

No sooner had I parked up then the two blonde bombshells were stood before me. I looked up, they smiled sweetly and asked in a hypnoticaly musical voice "Do you mind if we sit with you?".

In stunned silence I slipped my briefcase from the seat opposite and gestured for them to take a seat. It wasn't my company they were craving though - they were drawn in by Digits angelic little puppy face.

The hour passed quickly, too quickly, as I learnt about shooting and dog handling in Sweden (they were both in the shooting "scene") and they explained that they were here on a two week exchange programme to learn how the Britich primary education system works (more like a lesson in how NOT to do it!)

I said my "good byes", wished them luck, and strutted off to my platform with a big grin on my face and walking just a little bit taller; every guy in that room was fixated on the two girls and their extraordinarily long legs and they chose to sit with me (probably the sympathy vote!).

As I made my way through the crowd one guy reached out to grab my arm - "Sod the aftershave mate... where can I get a couple of dogs like yours?"

Digit's as keen as mustard when it comes to retrieving - he will have a go at picking up literally anything.

I''ve been out to a shoot  dinner in a Dartmoor pub to look down and see Digit sat beside me clutching a ladies handbag that he'd srolen from another room; I've been hand delivered a very nice new Browning B525 Grade 5 in a beautiful Conway leather gunslip in the field, and one morning he even retrieved a "proper" baby fallow deer that he found hiding out in some thicket (the deer was released unharmed and monitored to ensure its survival). He may be only a small cocker, but he'll try to pick up anything and everything if he thinks that there's even the slightest chance of being told that he's a "good boy".

As this mornings delayed train slowed on its approach to one of the station stops the carriage end (by the door, where I more often than not stand for the duration of my journey) filled with people anxious to continue with the next leg of their journey.

Both dogs watched intently as more and more people crammed themselves, sardine like, into the tight space. Every person was eyed over and sniffed for signs of food, pheasants, and other dogs (probably in that order, with more emphasis on food than anything else!).

Then all hell broke loose. I saw it coming before it happened but my reactions were nowhere  near fast enoughto stop what happened next. Digits ears pricked, his muscles began to twitch, and his face became momentarily fixated - the look that he gets just before he's about to launch himself at something interesting (usually a pheasant trying to hide away under a bramble).

Digit had spied a dead animal in the form of a pair of very trendy "Ugg Boots" being worn by a very atractive and slight young lady on her way to university. The form didn't matter - this was a dead animal and all dead animals must be retrieved to the boss (ok, I may not be the boss in many cases, but I ma the boss in the eyes of this cute little cocker... not so sure about Charlie though!).

As his teeth closed firmyl around the boot and puled the young lady let out a loud scream. Totally undisturbed by the noise and rigourous leg shaking, Digit carried on with his mission -  I was getting that boot whether the girl was wearin it or not!

Everybody on the train looked on in horror (as did I) as the little cocker savaged the young ladys foot. The girl was screaming and shaking her leg, the dog was puilling harder, and eventualy she slipped her grip on the lady stod next to her, lost her balance, and fell backwards to the ground with Digit still tugging at her foot.

On the floor she was easier to attacke, and Digit had the boot off in no time. True to form, there was nowhere for me to hide as he pushed his way through the forest of legs to deliver the saliva covered boot perfectly to my hand.

I didn't realy know what to say, so I just helped the girl to her feet and lamely offered her her boot back. Not content with the embarassment which he had already caused to me and the young lady (she was wearing a very short skirt when she fell, but as any gentleman would, I averted my eyes!), as soon as she beant to try to refit her boot the little bugger was at it again. This time she saw it coming so just about managed to keep her balance and fend the dog off just long enough for me to get a handle on him.

My panic stricken apologies flowed like a steady stream, and I very generously (I thought) offered compensation in the form of the remains of my coffee to steady her neves - I've no idea why, but she refused my offer! Luckily, for me as well as Digits longevity, the girl has dogs of her own and so saw the funny side. I see her on the train quite often now, she always smiles and says "hello", but she does give us a wide birth!

It all started very early one Sunday morning not long after I'd moved onto the farm. Saturday night had seen me hitting the local clubs and strutting my stuff; my unique combination of exotic dance moves performed elephantine grace would have been enough to make even John Travolta or David Brend jealous.

The deafening knock at the door resounded around my skull. It seemed as though my body had only just touched the sheets, but I slid off of the hot mattress and teetered gingerly down the steep stairs towards the heavy oak sheet protecting my eyes from the glare of the sun. Admittedly it was nearly eight already, and I do rant, rave, and preach to anyone that will listen the benefits of getting up as early as possible, so he probably wasn't expecting me to be in bed.

Slowly and painfully, I creaked open the door with cat-like eyes "Just to let you know that the water'll be off when you wake up. There's a problem with the well" was the welcome from Farmer. "Thanks." I replied "When I wake up"?

There was no point going back to bed. The dogs had heard me stir and were up, and now, somewhat reluctantly, so was I.

I washed my face in what was left of the cold water as it dribbled encouragingly from the steel tap. Splashing the refreshingly cool well water onto my clammy skin I looked at my reflection in the wall mounted mirror (after all, what are mirrors for?). My heavy workload and hectic social life was taking its toll; "character lines" were appearing where the skin was once taut, and dark heavy shadows had appeared under my eyes: I looked worn-out.

A fascination with the English language and a desperate longing to focus on something, anything, other than the heavy bass still pounding in my eardrums drew me to a dictionary to find out the actual definition of "worn-out":

"1. Threadbare, valueless, or useless". Maybe I wasn't worn-out after all; maybe I was just a little tired.

Later that day recounting the story of my sleepless night to a friend, The Matron, over coffee she likened my description of events to the style of the columnist featuring in the American feminist comedy "Sex in the City". "You should write a column" she exclaimed. "Me? Write a column? Never!"

So was born the concept of "The Country Bachelor". Glimpses of the very different life of a born again bachelor (aka divorcee) as he merges his recently single life with city tendencies and his love of everything country.

We decided that my recent move to a farm at the back of beyond, and the daily antics of me, my neighbours, and my friends, could make for some interesting light hearted reading.

Several coffees passed (literally) before we realised the major flaw in the plan; I had never written much more than my name before, so this little project could prove to be difficult.

An accident a few years ago had left with the belief, rightly or wrongly, that I can do anything I like, all I have to do is try (and, find someone agreeable!). So was born "The Country Bachelor"