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Luke and Lara have organized a table and chairs for us in here, next to the puppies, and now that Luke has done so much clearing up there’s plenty of space for performers to audition. Horse is sitting in one of the chairs, his silver earring catching the late autumn sunlight.

‘So we still need a Father Christmas,’ I say, reviewing my list of our applicants. ‘Nobody here seems to be standing out.’

‘And elves,’ says Will. ‘Are you sure you couldn’t be Father Christmas, Horse?’

‘No, as I say, I don’t think I’m cut out for that role,’ Horse says, with a trace of the deep laughter that makes me think he would actually make an excellent Father Christmas.

‘Okay, we have our first performers,’ says Luke, holding a clipboard, smiling, and giving Lara a look I notice. ‘It’s Sam Turner. He lives in the town. He’d like to play his version of a Christmas classic on the mouth organ . . .’

Beside me, Horse gives a little splutter into his tea. I nudge him, hoping I don’t get a fit of the nervous giggles. He clears his throat and straightens up, shifting into the role of judge as Sam Turner approaches.

‘Lovely to have you here today, Sam. Give it your best shot, buddy! Love a mouth organ!’

After Sam comes a whistling choir from secondary school, followed by Cynthia from the cheese counter in the supermarket, who sees herself as Ozzy Osbourne. She has an electric guitar but can’t actually play it . . . or sing. Horse has a kind word of encouragement for them all.

Just as I’m beginning to think this may be a fruitless task, in comes a group of three youngsters.

‘Next up – The Starlets,’ announces Luke. Music comes on, and the young performers cartwheel across the space. They are crossing over one another, dancing nimbly around each other. Two are dressed in star costumes, the other as a light-up present.

I look at Will and smile widely at his delighted expression.

‘It’s the gold buzzer from me!’ he says, watching them in awe.

‘Thank you. We’d love you to come and be part of our Christmas here,’ I tell them.

‘We’re looking to get on cruise ships next year, so we’ll be livestreaming from here to build our audience,’ says one of the performers. It turns out that they’re studying performing arts at the local college, and this is one of their projects.

‘Well, I’ll give you each a high recommendation and a report for your tutors. And a Christmas tree to take home for your families,’ I say.

‘Done!’

And Will and I high-five each other.

They’re followed by three drummers from the same college course in light-up suits, drumming a joyous beat. I can just see both the acts dancing and drumming through the forest as the customers pick their Christmas trees.

Then comes a little run of candidates offering themselves up as the farm’s Father Christmas, from Ifan on the nearby farm to Sam the mouth-organ player again.

‘We’ll need a bit of time to decide on our Father Christmas,’ I say to them tactfully.

As the last would-be Santa files out, an almighty noise from outside the barn makes us all jump.

‘Thought our Delilah could be a good addition to your farm’s experience,’ says Glan from the next-door farm as he appears in the doorway. ‘She’s ever so lonely since her partner died. Thought she could join in the fun here.’ He steps inside, leading a braying donkey.

Lara looks as if she has fallen in love at first sight. After a short discussion about the practicalities, she takes the lead rein from Glan, assuring him we’ll look after Delilah well.

‘And now,’ says Luke, ‘our local knitting circle.’ He seems to be trying to contain a smile.

Horse and I exchange a surprised glance as three members of my knitting group step forward.

‘Hello,’ I say, smiling. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen you all! Life’s been rather hectic!’

‘So we hear! We’ve missed you,’ says Anne, who I last saw in the supermarket the day I thought I’d lost Will. It really is good to see them again.

‘But what are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘We thought we could come along . . .’

‘And knit!’ says Anne.