We went to look at a bull today. Several in fact, although they all looked pretty similar to me. Eight or so South Devon bulls. Big necks, orange (ish), long bodies, strong hindquarters. Short tawny, carpety coats; they look like lions. They are, in fact, 'the largest mammal native to the British Isles'. Not an uninteresting fact.

These bulls were two years old and ready for action. South Devon bulls retail in from about two thousand pounds upwards. I think that for some (pedigree breeders), it's a bit like the snowdrop thing all over again (a collecting obsession), although you get a bit more for your money. Rob, the breeder, mentioned wanting to get one from a certain herd, to add to his collection. His father had given him half a dozen pedigree South Devon cows for his 21st. It's like boys, collecting stickers of football plays; Charles Saatchi, collecting young British artists; me, as a child, birthday by birthday, building up a playmobil empire.

I liked looking at them, for sure - they're incredible things - but what was even more interesting was watching Harry and his father look at them. They were seeing things I couldn't, differentiating between them: this one would be better than that one; another looked great walking, but wasn't so great standing still. Harry spent a long time walking around them, sizing them up, making notes, positively drooling over a couple of them. As we were walking out, Jesse, Harry's father, asked me which one liked. "That one!" I blurted out, "It's coat has a nice texture!" Honestly! Couldn't I have said it looked like a good bull?! Turns out I'd picked a good one though; Harry later made an offer for it which was accepted. I've never seen a person look so pleased about buying an animal; he was positively radiant. Admittedly, I've never seen anyone buy a bull before. He said it was retail therapy; a woman buys a dress, a farmer (or he might have said man) buys a bull. I nearly hit him.