out I slunk, slippers stealing stealthily over the grass.
The torch wound like a coiled spring, like any good warriors we were ready...
Our war cries rattled the weather boarded cottages, near neighbours slumber split asunder.
Under the cover of darkness our enemy was in full spate, quietly, oh so quietly munching.
Not a clear photo I know, the reason being my tear-filled eyes failed to focus.
In the gleam of the beam, fat white slugs were found enjoying a midnight feast...
"Not on my Nicotianas you're NOT!"
Cold blooded warrior I aint, so I carefully picked them off and hurled them over my *ancient hedge
(*ancient because every species in an old hedge represents 100 years and mine has at least five!)
in the vain hope they would land on a sleeping blackbird or thrush, who might be tempted to think this really is a turn left on an aeroplane type service.
Even after all my endeavours wandering around the garden this morning it still broke my heart.
Trying to garden kindly, kind-of doesn't work! Even coffee grounds and minced up bits of volcanoes don't pose a problem for the cunning little critters.
These little beauties never get out of the greenhouse
at least not in this form. Carried down the garden they go, me looking for all the world innocent as the day is long.
Seriously thinking of joining tomatoholics; never a day goes by without me feasting on the flavoursome little fruits.
My wild 'meadow' boasts just five Oxeye Daisies. Where am I going wrong I wonder?
My last picture is of the little chair I bought from the Whealden Times Summer Fair, Peter's rabbit and a funny little cushion I made with a tiny bit more of the shoe fabric.
I've had a nice morning of admin. for Kitsch and Stitch, blogging and generally wasting time, now I really have no excuse not to retire to my studio and work...
displacement therapy is what I think it's called!?!