This bloke has an all-consuming passion - tractors. Big ones, little ones, old ones, new ones, Fergies, Deeres - loves them all. His shed is filled with tractors in various states of repair, the kitchen table has parts all over it, every book in the library is a service manual of one sort or another. One day, working beneath his favorite Kubota, a hydraulic ram fails and the tractor bucket falls, pinning him and breaking his back. He spends long hours, calling for help before a neighbour finds him. Nothing can console him. Unable to drive his precious tractors, he sells off his collection one at a time until, at last, the shed is empty. Just as the depression begins to overwhelm him, a new physiotherapist arrives. Young, vivacious, gentle, beautiful. Life has meaning again and he falls in love with her - and she with him. Their private joke - that she'll take him dancing - becomes his rehabilitation goal. The day arrives. Dressed in his finest suit, wheelchair batteries fully charged, he rolls out of the maxi-taxi and into the swishest night-spot in town. The lights sparkle, the music is loud, and she is utterly enchanting. But as they dance, she begines to gasp, clutching at her chest. Frantically, she rummages through her purse, to no avail. The thick smoke has triggered an asthma attack and she falls to the ground, barely breathing. Instantly, he empties his lungs and draws the deepest, longest breath - the room is cleared of smoke and his beloved is saved. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Of course, you can only do this if you're an ex-tractor fan.