Thunder on a sunny day

We had a lovely day yesterday, sunshine and only a light wind. I decided that although many garden tasks are not "do-able" because of the soaking wet soil, I'd try to do some taming by doing some pruning so I spent the afternoon with my loppers, pruning saw, shredder and my solar-powered radio set to Radio 4 where I caught the afternoon play (always a joy), the Archers and a whole host of other delights.

While I was working, apart from the sounds generated by my own endeavours, my ears were hardly disturbed by any man-made noises at all, other than an occasional car on the road outside the secret garden where I was working away.

The sounds therefore were all made by nature, especially a host of lovely songbirds, singing their little hearts out. One robin sat in the top of the cherry tree and sang for a good half an hour, in a duet with another robin, unsighted (by me) on the other side of the garden. I had to keep stopping the shredder to fill my ears and my heart with his sounds. it was quite beautiful.

Then I heard thunder - or at least I thought it was thunder, which was odd given the blue and quite definitely unstormy sky. I wandered around the garden wondering whether there was a storm creeping up from a part of the horizon where I had no view, which in itself seemed odd given that we have 360 degree views here and the biggest sky you can imagine.

Suddenly I realised the source of the thunder - it was the thundering hooves of the three "hosses" who are lodging in the field behind our house - our poor neighbours who'd planned to make their own hay this year for the first time gave up in a quagmire of disgusting wet weather and mud so they got in some help to get the fields cut before the autumn!

I smiled!

Linda The Destroyer

I've got a confession to make that puts me in the gruesome, gristly world of BAD PEOPLE. I've become a mass-murderer on a scale rarely seen. I'm murdering slugs by the hundred each evening. Oh yes, I am. Not just that but I'm actually coming back into the house covered in slime, drenched through to the skin because it's not stopped raining here for months and SMILING because I'm so pleased with myself.

What has turned me into this monster? Well, I dug up a few potatoes from the veggie garden for supper a few days ago only to discover that there were papery potato skins that contained nothing more or less than a few fat and obviously contented slugs, with no potato flesh left at all. Well, I'm sorry but those potatoes were meant for my tummy, not theirs. In a world where the chips are down and my food, that I've worked hard to cultivate is being taken by others, I'm not about to take that lightly.

So, I think about my options - the slug pubs that have been in situ all summer don't work well because the beer is getting watered down and washed out by rain so they've not done the job they did for me last year. I don't want to use metaldehyde based pellets or powders - no toxic chemicals in my veggie patch thank you very much. I've been asking in coffee bars for coffee grounds and have managed to protect my leeks using this method but it doesn't work for plants that touch the ground in more than one place, such as the chards, spinach or even the potatoes underground.

My solution is a tub that has had an organic fertiliser in it that I put the slugs that I pick off my plants and soil in then I pour salt over the top of them before I put the lid on. Yes, I am wicked and evil. Do I care? Like I said - it's them or me - if they eat my crops I can't so I'm not going to let that happen. I reckon it takes me an hour at dusk to clear 3 of my 6 veggie beds - to try to do more would be back-breaking and take another hour. In have to be a little pragmatic about the time spent on it.

Pure unadulterated magic or just OK?

I'm still sad because of losing Monty Don from Gardener's World.

It got me to wondering what is it that made my heart sing as soon as he opened his mouth on the show when other presenters are "fine" - they know their stuff but just don't make you feel great in the way that Monty does. You know they are capable, their advice is wise and compelling, yet you just don't feel the same attraction.

Can you "love" someone who you don't know based on their appearances on TV or their books? As surely as I feel compelled to type this, I feel that I can truly say I love Monty and loved Geoff Hamilton in the same way, yet I just don't feel the same way about Carol, Joe or any of the other presenters.

I've come to the conclusion that it's a heady mix of pure charisma, animated enthusiasm and my own receptiveness to the way that these two men relate to their gardens. I see myself in them. I know that I would not have become a passionate gardener if Geoff hadn't captured my imagination so comprehensively. After his death, I felt as though I was fighting my way through the wilderness with nothing more in my armamentarium than his written wisdom (yes, I have every book he wrote). I couldn't relate to Alan Titchmarsh or any of the others.

Then an idle flick through the channels revealed Monty doing his stuff and I was hooked again. He shoved his hands into the soil and my world felt right again. I don't know what it was, a mix of the twinkle in his eye, the sheer exuberant joy of his style or the fact that I felt a kinship with him. It was only after he announced his decision to leave the show after suffering a stroke that I realised that he too has known clinical depression. Perhaps, as I said before, "it takes one to know one". In the "Jewel Garden" his wife Sarah describes him as "loony" and I smile. If he is, then I am too and proud of it.