The Gloves Are Off

It’s bad enough that the weather has all but demolished this year’s veg.

A few early potatoes, not many, and then the rest shriveled up overnight. I’ve not yet found the heart to dig them up so there they stay, blighted and forlorn. If Monty Don can’t make it happen, what hope have I. Then there were the slugs. Slithering over the permanently wet earth to devour my young peas and beans.

So was I dispirited? Not quite. The fruit cage was full of redcurrants, raspberries and blueberries and all summer I’d watched them flower, develop and swell. Mike will concur: a domestic goddess I am most definitely not. But those pearlescent red berries were not going to waste. The dust came off Delia. With a little artistic licence, and a lot of mess, redcurrant and almond tartlets were born. And surprisingly good they were too, with Cornish clotted cream, for tea. We would have them again.

Or not.

Because just two days later, there wasn’t a single redcurrant to be seen. Not even the stalks. The ripe raspberries and blueberries had disappeared too and I thought we still had plenty of those.

A rustling sound in the fruit cage..

Something climbing the trunk of a blueberry bush..

Having a good look round for the pick of ‘his’ crop…



They had all the bird food. Now they’ve started on ours.

A tipping point has been reached.