Les Horsfield is nursing a battered, bloodied nose and 22 stitches in his hand, courtesy of a snapped cable on a post rammer.
He’s spent the morning in emergency department. Bad news for him – especially in the middle of the spud planting season – but good news for the Gazette, which has been waiting for a window of opportunity to interview him.
The doctors have ordered him to take it easy this afternoon, so he rings to say he’s confined to home and ready for a talk.
At the age of 86, he’s still going strong (barring the occasional minor accident), farming 800 acres in Thorpdale, the best potato country in Australia.
Ask him when he’ll give it away and he quips, “Three months ago the doctor reckoned I was good for another 20 years. I reckon I’ll make 19.”
He ascribes the good health at least partly to his self-styled potato diet.
“I eat spuds every day, sometimes twice a day. I wouldn’t miss.”
Les is an unusual mixture: potato farmer, journalist, community do-gooder, philosopher, occasional poet and champion of the humble spud.