Flowers are Not for Here

摘要

Let's begin with a rant. This year has been my annm horribilis. The garden has been invaded by Attila-like hordes of grey squirrels, attacking by stealth in the early hours, who have stripped every apple, pear and plum from the orchard; slugs the sizeof small snakes have devastated the hostas; wasps swarm angrily from the Virginia creeper whenever we attempt to have an evening drink outside; fallow deer and muntjaks treat my manor like a three-star Michelin restaurant, eating whatever takes their fancy; a badger sett now mars the largest flower bed and evidence of their nocturnal wanderings pits the lawns; most mornings I come across signs of the fox's ethnic cleansing of wood pigeons; and the heron has speared most of the bream in the lake. Why have I been thus singled out? I did buy a high-powered air rifle and managed, with unsteady aim and poor eyesight, to pot a few of the squirrels, but it has been a losing battle. By August, summer had come and gone with scarce a trace, the leaves turning and falling, while a chill wind scattered the black broom pods.