I spent the day making a mattock from scratch at The Oldfield Forge. I could write about my connection with my metalworking ancestors, or the primal nature of the forge. But four hours beating the bejeesus out of a strip of iron is as cathartic as it needs to be. No more need be said. The mattock, now fitted with an antler handle, is a thing of beauty in the eye of its creator and, what's more, efficienty cuts the stems of ash and hazel which we are growing to feed our rocket stove.