Muckaway:
Remember a lot of farmers will give directions out like they’re talking to the local squire in the pub. “Past Mr Gregorys’ old place (hanged for murdering his mistress in 1933), left where the Elm tree used to be (prior to Dutch Elm Disease), past the old station (closed in 1960 and demolished soon after), past the old Ameys quarry (worked out by 1975) and then a right where old Miss Harris lived (died aged 101 the same day George VI died).”
Priceless 
cav551:
Muckaway:
Remember a lot of farmers will give directions out like they’re talking to the local squire in the pub. “Past Mr Gregorys’ old place (hanged for murdering his mistress in 1933), left where the Elm tree used to be (prior to Dutch Elm Disease), past the old station (closed in 1960 and demolished soon after), past the old Ameys quarry (worked out by 1975) and then a right where old Miss Harris lived (died aged 101 the same day George VI died).”
Don’t forget the usual tales of woe that “there’s no money in farming anymore…” ignoring the new combine hiding in the barn, the wifes’ Range Rover Ewok 
and an impressive collection of restored farming implements…and the overpriced holiday let that was once the granary.
Sidevalve:
… Also worth noting that Welsh miles are usually twice as long as English ones.
How very true, and +1 for OS maps and a pen.
Paul
stuartrobbie:
Ordnance Survey Landranger maps, they are a bugger the way they are folded. But even show contour lines, handy for knowing steep hills near farms.often the best thing to do is phone the farmer, he will give you directions
+1
I liked delivering to farms where they’d leave a sign where to tip. If it was too much hassle/impossible to get to without moving two tonnes of junk, I’d move the sign. Actually I’d move the sign regardless. 
“Tip by the tractor” instruction when there were more than one in the yard. I tipped by the one with a bucket on (delivering shingle)…had a complaint that it was the wrong one.
Muckaway:
cav551:
Muckaway:
Remember a lot of farmers will give directions out like they’re talking to the local squire in the pub. “Past Mr Gregorys’ old place (hanged for murdering his mistress in 1933), left where the Elm tree used to be (prior to Dutch Elm Disease), past the old station (closed in 1960 and demolished soon after), past the old Ameys quarry (worked out by 1975) and then a right where old Miss Harris lived (died aged 101 the same day George VI died).”
Don’t forget the usual tales of woe that “there’s no money in farming anymore…” ignoring the new combine hiding in the barn, the wifes’ Range Rover Ewok
And let’s not forget the predictably stereotypical comments from people who complain about stereotyping.
Sidevalve, when I worked on the flour (and the mill being in a village) there were country stereotypes working there. A miller and the grain man related, packer related to someone else etc etc, and everyone knew your business before you found out. There’s even a village idiot driving for them that gets lost no matter how many times (and fines re London) he does a run.
Navigator and Sat Nav
the key with sat nav is to review the
final miles against a paper map
What will you be delivering on farm?
Muckaway:
Sidevalve, when I worked on the flour (and the mill being in a village) there were country stereotypes working there. A miller and the grain man related, packer related to someone else etc etc, and everyone knew your business before you found out. There’s even a village idiot driving for them that gets lost no matter how many times (and fines re London) he does a run.
That, my friend, is country life and I wouldn’t swap it for the world. Sooner have that any day (well apart from the ■■■■■■!) than living in a town where no bugger wants to speak to you; my neighbours might know my business but they keep a tab on strangers too, where I used to live in Derby you couldn’t leave empties out for the milkman without some bugger nicking them. As for relatives; amongst our drivers there’s two brothers, two uncles and nephews and a couple of cousins. Out on the farms you never speak ill of one farmer to another cos it always gets back to them.
Being the token Englishman, I’m quite used to being sent on longer forays over the bridge; standing joke is that they do it in the hope that i’ll stay there!