Tragic

The tragedy was that the slugs hoovered up every single one of all my new seedlings that were coming up: black kale, late carrots, beetroot, spinach, radishes and lettuce. I had seen the lovely greening of it from the kitchen window, but when I finally got out there there was just nothing but one of those disgusting enormous brown slugs in the middle of the bed.

I had made the best seedbed ever. I had surrounded it by a "hedge" of holly twigs so that the neighbours' cats didn't get in. I had strung black thread on sticks to keep off the birds, especially the pigeons. Why on earth didn't I remember slug pellets? Because I had this idea that I was going to research bird-friendly ones, and I just simply forgot. From the kitchen window I kept thinking, "Oh what perfect weather for the seedlings: sunshine and rain". But days passed and I didn't get out there till too late.

Well, the seeds are all half price at the moment, so I've started again. I've put the old blue slug pellets under large broken flowerpots, and, sure enough there are gruesome, slimy mortuaries under there. My plan is to go out and clear them up and keep the pellets topped up. This means that no birds get to eat the poisoned slugs and none of the mortuary gets to contaminate the soil. I haven't done it yet. Yuk

And tomorrow I will blog about all the late sowings in the greenhouse and the preparation of my autumn onion beds. I am trying so hard to prove that it's never too late in the year to grow your own food.

Tonight I was out messing with my compost heaps till it was dark. It was cool and windy (more about global warming tomorrow), but I was warm with the exertions, and my happiness was exquisite. Beyond the hedge I heard and then saw Jonny, our farmer, coming over the field in his tractor, carrying a load of hay in the dark. I hoped he was as happy as I was, working in the dark. This, I think, is what life should be about for everyone on the planet.

All over the world, where the agricultural life that has pertained for millions of years, this is the kind of thing people are doing on a summer night, and they are surely so often living with such deep, quiet satisfaction. In Africa, someone might be watching his cattle as it gets dark, and this is what he and his father and grandfathers before him might have done for centuries.

And then I came indoors and heard that not one but two teenage boys have been stabbed in cities last night, and that the Russians have advanced to a distance of only 20 miles from Tblisi.

I don't pretend to understand battles and conflicts and all the terrible things that ravage the quiet life that most people want to lead. It seems to me that it's mostly about space, and I fervently hope that in a better age to come every one of us might be as lucky as I am, to have an acre and a quiet life.