Dawson - The self-sufficiency bible: from window boxes to smallholdings - hundreds of ways to become self-sufficient

A book such as this cannot be written alone, and lots of people helped along the way with ideas and advice. The most important is my wife, Debbie, without whom this book would never have been possible. Thanks also need to go Paula Bishenden, Eileen Bowen, Alison Homer and Robert Crocumbe for all things bovine, and to Derek and Debs Jones for advice on fishing and gluten-free foods. A tower of thanks goes to my agent Jane Graham Maw www.grahammawchristie.com, and to Michael Mann and everyone at Watkins Publishing, who have been brilliant. Finally, and possibly most important of all, heartfelt thanks go to my friends the animals: Darcy and Dex, my dogs; Kylie, the matriarch sow; The General Lee, our boar; the pigs, geese, ducks, chickens, turkeys, sheep, horses and all the rest of the gang, on whom we practised our craft and learnt so much.

I t was New Years Eve , and we had been invited to a party in a pub in Devon. We were packed shoulder to shoulder with farmers and outdoor types, the carpet sticky with spilt beer and crunchy with peanuts. Next to me Debbie, my wife, said something I didnt catch. Sorry? I said. There was a jazz band playing loudly in the corner with a singer who looked so old I wondered if the rest of the band had borrowed her from a local nursing home to make up the numbers. I said, I want to give up work in London and move down here to Devon, Debbie said, as I found out later. She was probably shouting, but I still couldnt hear her. Some of the farmers around us were waltzing, some jiving, some doing the twist. They were happy.

I was nearly at the end of my Reinbeer, and tilted the glass, smiling. It was pointless trying to speak, and I didnt want to spend the evening saying sorry to everything she said, so I smiled and nodded, hoping she had said something about the need for more alcohol. Her chin dropped, and she mouthed the word, Really? It was New Years Eve, my glass was empty and I wanted another. I nodded enthusiastically, mouthing back, Yes, really, delighted at her reaction over my intention to drink the bar dry. She got up and flung her arms around my neck, kissing me wildly and shouting, I love you, I love you, I love you, directly into my ear. Then she picked up my glass and rushed for the bar, darting between the dancers. The band was still playing, although not necessarily all the same tune and I was happy to see the singer still on her feet. Im sure at one point I heard her shout into the microphone, Do you know how old I am? I settled back into my seat, Debbie at the bar collecting our drinks, content that I was a relationship god.

Honestly, thats how it happened. Without my really knowing it, Id agreed to change my life for ever. Three months later, we had quit our jobs, sold our London flat and moved to Exmoor. In the beginning I knew nothing. I knew a thorn bush on account of the, er, thorns, and I knew a stinging nettle when I touched one, but that was as far as my outside knowledge went. Then, for Christmas, Debbie bought me Kylie. Shes your own pig, she said. (I could see that, I just wasnt aware I needed one.) I thought we could breed from her. The following year I bought her four ducklings as my Valentine love token and they say romance is dead.

All we could afford was 20 acres of scruffy but beautiful woods and fields next to a stream on Exmoor. Nothing had been touched on it for several generations, and there wasnt a gate that didnt disintegrate when you opened it, or a row of fencing that stood upright. It needed work and investment, but more than that it needed someone who knew what they were doing. Sadly, it got me.

Looking back, the fact that I was forced to take on the project was the best thing that could have happened. I had to discover for myself what everything was, what it did, what it tasted like, how it worked and how best to use it. I listened to the old-time farmers and mixed in a little modern technology of my own. Soon, our self-sufficient smallholding was born, and as soon as it was, the television cameras arrived.