Each day I walked through the allotment, checking how far my new wellies had sunk into the mud. And each day they sunk a little less. I fitted in the welly/mud test in with my mole-catching campaign. I carry all my mole-catching kit in an old plastic sheepfeed bag as I walk about the place.
Nature never ceases to amaze. Here we are in the middle of a seven-day freeze fest. The ground is like concrete. And yet this is the time the local mole population decided the time was right to make a mass invasion of Hampstead Towers. there are small mountains of freshly turned earth appearing all over the job, how the little devils manage to dig tunnels and chuck the muck up through the frozen topsoil is a mystery.
Change of fortune
I had started to turn over my early tatie patch at the back of the cottage and had got it half done when the big freeze came along. I left the fork in the ground when I went in for a cuppa and now it is frozen in solid. I can’t budge it, and the once-soft soil is now impenetrable. So how does a tiny little creature smaller than my
