April 15, 2015
Pedal on Parliament effectively reached the email event horizon today – that point where emails start coming in faster than I can deal with them, so I can sit down at my computer thinking I’ll just get some minor task done while I start lunch, and an hour later I’ll still be typing away with my lunch cooling beside me and actually more behind with my inbox fuller than it was when I started and not having actually done the thing that I switched it on to do in the first place.
This isn’t great news for the garden; in a sane and rational world we would hold POP in September when the weather is still generally nice and gardening consists of swanning about with secateurs harvesting things, not suddenly looking up from your inbox with a start and remembering that it is not enough to get hold of some onion sets, you actually have to go out and plant them before they climb out of their bag and start planting themselves but before you can do that you need to prepare the bed for them and what about those parsnips you were chitting, they need planting out too, and there are bastard mice in the greenhouse nipping off the tops of your broadbean seedlings* so better get them out of harm’s way as soon as possible. But we hold POP in spring because that’s when elections generally are – clearly politicians aren’t generally gardeners any more than they are cyclists (and perhaps if they were either, we really would live in a sane and rational world…).
Fortunately, as most of the POP team ARE cyclists, I do get a reprieve between 5 and 7 as that is when most self-respecting cyclists are cycling home from work (and then eating their bodyweight in toast) and so the emails slackened off and, as it was a suddenly gorgeous evening, I was able to escape to try and catch up with the gardening backlog. I can’t say I was exactly successful there either, but the situation is at least no worse than when I started, which is more than I can say for my emails …
We’re also falling behind with eating the purple-sprouting broccoli, but I’m filing that one under ‘nice problem to have’.
* for no discernable reason at all. At least the slugs actually *eat* the things they attack. Still, it makes me feel slightly less bad for all those times I’ve seen the cat playing with her food …
April 2, 2013
As the snow receded from the walled garden over the weekend, we spotted this:
Closer inspection revealed what would appear to be a network of tracks through the moss and grass, presumably carved under the snow cover by mice or something of that ilk (I also have photos of poo if it helps anyone identify them… the tracks appeared mostly to be running to neat little latrines. Obviously ‘don’t foul your own nest’ is something better understood by mice than by humans.)
Thinking about it, it must have been rather cosy running around underneath the snow, safely hidden from any hovering kestrels or passing cats. I’d almost feel quite fond of them, if it weren’t for the other traces they’ve been known to leave…
November 9, 2012
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about growing veg in the last three years, it’s that the one thing you think you’ve got cracked, that will be the thing that fails. Last year our perpetual spinach seemed the star performer: easy to grow, hardy and relatively tough, it lived up to its name and produced a steady supply of almost-spinach all winter and well into the spring in return for nothing but a regular application of old coffee grounds. Easy peasy. And this year it’s been shaping up to repeat the performance: germinated direct in the soil, shrugged off a few slug attacks, happily providing bunches of the green stuff from about July onwards, as long as you don’t crop it too heavily.
At least until the mice found it. I went up yesterday to feed it more coffee and found it looking a bit strange. It turned out that underneath the cover of the leaves the mice had been nibbling away at the beets (it’s actually a leaf beet) at the base of the stem until they’d completely beheaded the whole plant, just as they had done to my beetroot last year, although curiously they’ve left the beetroot alone. Might be time to take the cat up there and have her earn her keep…
November 23, 2010
My mother, as I may have already mentioned, feeds the birds on an industrial scale. She even has a specially constructed bunker outside the house for storing bird food, including a huge plastic tub to hold peanuts for the peanut feeder. The two mice who chewed their way into the tub must have thought they’d reached some sort of mouse heaven. Here were peanuts beyond their wildest dreams, and a lovely dark peaceful place in which to enjoy them…
The flaw in this plan, once the peanut level had dropped as the weeks wore on, must only have occurred to them after they had squeezed through their usual hole and into the tub. Whether it was because the level was now too low for them to jump out again, or that they were just too tubby to get back out the way they had come in, they were now stuck and had no option but to wait for rescue, undoubtedly getting heartily sick of peanuts in the process. Fortunately for the mice, my parents are kind hearted people and merely tipped them out into the garden to go and raid someone else’s stores. But if there’s anyone out there who wants an extremely humane mousetrap, I think this design might be a goer…
October 6, 2010
Coming back from Notso Bigtown yesterday, stocking up after our Irish trip, we found the neighbour’s kitten was sitting outside his front door unable to get back in. I don’t know how it got out or even if it was meant to be out but it was looking fairly miserable, especially when it started bucketing down with rain. Besides, its got the sort of road sense that had it crouching behind the back wheel of our car when the other half got in to drive off, so I thought it would be a good idea if we temporarily catnapped it until the neighbour got home, purely as a neighbourly act and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s rather desperately cute and playful although somewhat too prone to sitting on my computer keyboard when I’m trying to work.
Anyway it came in and had a good nose round, the way any neighbour would the minute they get the chance to have a look next door, and I gave it a saucer of water, and the other half – who doesn’t approve of cats on principle – unbent sufficiently to fashion a rather creepy disembodied hand cat toy out of a glove on a piece of string. And we were just beginning to wonder when exactly the neighbour was planning on coming home when there was an abrupt scuffling sound and we went into the kitchen to find the kitty briskly dispatching a mouse.
You know, the Londoner in me is always a little reticent about getting too cosy with the neighbours. Friendly chats in passing, the loan of a cup of sugar or a pint of milk, or the occasional invitation to pop round for a drink or a meal are all very well, but you don’t want to be stuck with the sort of neighbour who’s always watching your every move, inviting themselves in, never leaving, always there. Unless, of course, that neighbour is a cat who catches mice. That neighbour is definitely welcome to drop round any time.
I might have to revisit the name of my blog though.
May 12, 2010
I was in a farmyard this morning, and I noticed a little black and white cat, barely more than a kitten, coming out of a barn with a mouse in its jaws. It dropped its prey at the feet of the old sheep dog which sleeps chained up in the sun there, and nudged it with its head, as though to show it what a wonderful present it had brought it.
‘Awwwww,’ I said to my cycling buddy. ‘How cute is that?’ and we cooed for a while at the little vicious killer and its ancient partner in crime.
I have definitely lived in the country too long now.