Moans.

The last two nights have been very cold here in dear old Blighty. Some of the leaves on the spring growth in the garden were frostbitten this morning.

A veritable horde of wild pheasants has started invading my garden from the nearby field and eating all the food I put out for the garden birds. They’re very persistent. (I suspect the alpha cock pheasant is called Attila, but he doesn't wear a funny hat so I can't be sure.)

The female rat which has been living in the garden for several weeks has given birth, so now there’s a family of rats living in the garden. Families of rats tend to grow exponentially very quickly.

Something has dug a damn great hole in the middle of one of my flower beds and thrown a large mound of soil over the nearby plants.

I’m clean out of coffee and won’t be able to get more until Saturday. I don’t think I’ve ever been out of coffee at any time in my life. I didn’t drink coffee while I was bedridden in hospital because it tasted as though it had been made from mud dredged out of the Humber Estuary, but at least it was there if I’d wanted it. This is serious.

The Covid thing is beginning to feel like wartime now, and the garden is becoming enemy territory.