"The following Monday I gave in my notice, sold almost everything I owned and set off to my roots in South Wales..." Too many years ago than I care to remember, when I was young and stupid, I left a well paid job in a solicitors office in Guildford, Surrey to become a shepherd on a Welsh hillside. I didn't know what to expect - but, if I had the chance I'd go back tomorrow! I'm Andrew, 50 years old and living in Newcastle under Lyme. I have a small family, just two sisters, which is more than enough! My interests include music, cooking, travel and local radio. That's why Inside Lives captured my imagination - it was interesting and enlightening to hear people relate and develop their stories - and being me, it's been great fun to have the chance to use some very high-tech equipment.
It seemed to get light earlier that day. Looking out, the fields were covered with a blanket of snow, under which were about 100 small mounds. I'd never seen anything like it so I wrapped up and set out to the house on the bottom of the hill. On the way down I thought to myself 'why am I doing this?' Six months ago I was comfortably off as a young solicitor in Guildford, it was then that my life changed. Awaking one morning I suddenly realised that my social life had vanished. All my friends were engaged or married and I was no longer on the dinner party circuit. The following Monday I gave in my notice, sold almost everything I owned and set off to my roots in South Wales. I ended in the Wye Valley. It was obvious that I'd need a job fairly soon, but what? Not a lot of call for lawyers out here. I overheard a conversation in the pub one day, that a local farmer had become frail and needed help with his sheep. I paid him a visit. He was a retired sailor called Bill, Barnacle Bill to his friends. He was a bit put off by my lack of experience, but nevertheless he took me on and showed me the ropes. And that's how I came to give up law to become a shepherd. Pay was £40 a week. Not much, but it included a static caravan on the hilltop, food, and copious amounts of Bill's elderberry wine. He taught me all aspects of sheep farming. Sheep are fragile and if you don't look after them, they snuff it! You have to watch for footrot, which makes them limp. Fly strike, which is when maggots infest the fleece. And sheep dipping, to prevent it. And Bill would have told me that when you wake to find 100 small mounds under the snow, you don't dig them out, you leave them. But when I pushed his door open that day I found that Bill had died in his sleep by the fire. I called the police and tracked down his next of kin, who said they'd be selling the flock. My time was up. I stayed for the funeral, said goodbye to all the sheep individually, especially the leader of the flock, Caroline. Then I packed my bags and headed North. | 
