We wake early. This morning it was 5.20. I whack a tin plate of bacon and black pudding in the Aga. By the time I’ve fried eggs, made toast and the kettle’s boiled, the bacon’s ready. I enjoy Radio 4 but it’s too depressing first thing. On Thursdays, Lynne comes at 8.30 to do my hair. I’ve had the same appointment for 20 years. And I spend £100 for a 
half-day at the beautician every few weeks to get my other bits done. I’m very high-maintenance.

I’ve been growing all my life. Now I’m on Weight Watchers. In the first month 
 I lost 20lb. When I lose pounds I buy a same-weight bag of sugar. They’re kept in the office. And I’ve put my name down for Robert Winston’s Women for Women charity bike ride in India in November. 
I bought myself a road bike. It’s hilly here but I couldn’t manage a mountain bike.

After breakfast, John pulls on his wellies and goes off to feed the bulls and sheep. Sometimes I sweep the yard and drive the tractor. It’s very boring. I’d rather dress smartly and be with people.

We converted some barns into office space, so, though I might live 30 miles from the nearest hamburger, I only have to cross the yard to work. It’s very busy. The phones are ringing: “Ample Bosom — how can we help?” Things go wrong but I wipe out bad memories of lost stock or mislaid orders. To keep me going, I drink mugs of instant coffee with raw milk from the farm up the road.

Today, farmers’ wives have their own careers. Jill Archer — ready with a freshly baked pie — is a dying breed. In real life, farming is much harder than it is on 
The Archers. I listen in the car, or on my computer before the girls come in. There are eight of us: two Denises, Anne, Kelly, Jill, Margaret, me and Wojciech. He’s Polish and the only man at the company.

In 1981 I started a bed-and-breakfast business. While our boys were around, it suited me. Once they didn’t need me, it was a bit of a life crisis. I’d watched Mum help Dad run his haulage company, so I knew that I wanted my own business. 
I asked my B&B guests what they’d be prepared to buy through the post, and the answer seemed to be: “Something priced around £25 that fits through the letterbox.” Then a friend needed a bra for her wedding. She couldn’t find what she was looking for in a 34F. Department stores had nothing, but online she found red bras, leather bras and bras with holes in… “Sally,” she said to me, “you should sell bras.” I thought: “Yes! Half the population wear them!”

I decided to specialise in big sizes but I was determined not to have “big”, “large” or “extra-large” in our company name. We brainstormed around the kitchen table and came up with Ample Bosom. Risqué but motherly. My favourite bra joke is Victoria Wood’s: How do you know when you need a bra? When you can keep a pencil under your bust and it doesn’t fall down. A pencil? I could get a branch of 
W H Smith under mine!

I’m dyslexic and I was hopeless on a computer, but my sons, who live and work away but come home at weekends, helped me. We have customers in Australia and New England. An order came from Saudi Arabia for 12 bras in the same size. The customer has bought a dozen every year. Most customers find a comfortable bra and order two or three. If they don’t fit we take them back, but not if they’ve obviously been worn.

John comes in for lunch, starving. There’s only cottage cheese and fruit in the fridge, a tin of soup or cheese and crackers. If he’d married someone thin he’d have been eating lettuce for 30 years. When I started in the bra business, all the reps were men. The first one got out his bog-standard bra. 
I asked about big cup sizes. “Oh, we don’t do big ones: they don’t sell.” Well, they do round here. I began by buying small stocks, mostly white, from six suppliers. Soon I had customers asking for anything up to size 56H. I’ve added swimwear, nightwear, underwear, waist nippers, Magic Knickers and Sluggies to the range. My goal is a £50m turnover. I’m not there yet, but I’m on the way.

If women have problems working out their size, they can come here. Jill and I do the measuring. Most days we get 
one or two women who have made an appointment, but sometimes they just turn up. Yesterday someone arrived 
 from Argentina. Women who’ve had mastectomies arrive in tears and lopsided. Because of my size and being Yorkshire, I don’t feel uncomfortable opening up a blouse and taking out a prosthesis that has been stuffed down a bra. Usually it’s not big enough. I show them what they should look like so they can explain it to their breast-care nurse.

Unless it’s my Weight Watchers night, tea is at 6pm. Whoever comes in first gets going with the meal. Steak pie would be nice, but let’s not talk about it. On Tuesdays we go ballroom dancing in Northallerton town hall, stopping at the chippie on the way. John has fish, chips and mushy peas. I have fish. He needs two new knees, but we have a lot of fun dancing. We drive home via Sainsbury’s or Tesco for the weekly shop.

Instead of books, I read Drapers and other trade journals. Somebody wants to turn my story into a film — a bit like Calendar Girls. In the evening I channel-hop or watch DVDs. I’m in bed by 11.30pm, making lists. Then I count the food points of all that I’ve eaten during the day. It’s better than counting sheep.

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