The Pint Sized Farmer who packs a punch on social media is now a published author too.

Sally Urwin couldn’t be more pleased to see A Farmer’s Diary: A Year at High House Farm in print, although the reading public will have to wait a little longer – it will be available from April 4.

Having a fresh perspective is her hallmark (she grew up in Tynemouth) and a sense of humour her mainstay, and those traits sing out from the very first pages.

There, she tells the story of the visitors who found her, one sunny spring day, fast asleep in the lambing shed on their bijou farm near Matfen.

“I hauled myself upright and staggered over to say hello. They asked who the farmer was. ‘I am’, I said.

“They looked unconvinced. ‘But ... who actually does the farming?’ they asked.

“‘I do. Me. That’s what I do. By myself. On my own,’ I replied. They look around as if expecting my husband, wearing bib and braces, to pop up from behind a hay bale.”

Perhaps they expected all farmers to be big beefy men with hands like spades and not a 4ft 10inch, smiley mother-of-two. She certainly wasn’t going to say she was the farmer’s wife, though. “It makes me sound like I’m in a nursery rhyme or I stand in the kitchen making Yorkshire puddings and pots of tea.

“Perhaps I should wear a name label, or a boiler suit with tractor logos all over it (if I could find one that didn’t need two feet chopped off the ankle).”

She could never have imagined she’d end up living and working in the countryside. She had spent her childhood playing on the beach in the shadows of the tall Victorian terraced house she shared with her mum, dad and older brother.

University had led to a job as a marketing officer for a group of insolvency specialists, and it had been as depressing as it sounded.

“I wore smart suits and big heels, had 1990s blonde-streaked hair and got my acrylic nails refilled every four weeks,” she said.

“My main role was trying to think up marketing slogans to promote the company to businesses that were about to go bankrupt.”

Internet dating, which was in its infancy in the early 2000s, provided her saviour. She still laughs about the picture the man she subsequently married had put on DatingDirect. He was wearing the most hideous woolly roll-neck.

Sally said: “Our first date was in the middle of lambing, and I remember trying to pick up two newborn lambs, slippery and steaming, out of a freezing paddock in the teeth of a north-easterly gale.

“Over the next few weeks, Steve and I spent our time huddling in the lambing shed, mucking out pens, grabbing the odd takeaway and pint before rushing back to the farm to check the stock.

“I was very happy. I loved it all. Steve was just what I wanted: uncomplicated and straightforward and deeply connected to his farm and to the countryside.”