There's a creature in the compost!

I think it is a mouse, or perhaps even a dear little vole or perhaps a shrew. Anything but a rat, please.

My dear landlord (no one could ask for a better landlord) has been giving me dire warnings ever since we moved here two years ago about rats, and it was only after much wheedling determination that I persuaded him to allow me to have a compost bin. He said it would bring rats and I argued that there are rodents everywhere you look (according to Mike’s favourite newspaper there is a rodent within 3 feet of you at any time in the UK) and that rats would be after somewhere warm and dry for their nest, whereas my compost heap would be cold and wet. I even sent him an internet link to that effect, but I could see he wasn’t convinced. He used to have traps spaced all over the place in the farm yard, the kitchen garden and greenhouse, much to the dismay of me and his wife, and the mortification of their weekly gardener who loves all creatures big and small and is willing to share all and any plants. To everyone’s relief these traps never yielded any mutilated little bodies, so we were finally given permission to start the compost. Last year’s effort was successful so this year I got a second bin going.

So why, I wonder, in what has been a particularly warm and dry autumn, do I suddenly have  a creature in the compost? I suppose because my compost is warm and dry rather than wet and cold. She set up camp a couple of weeks ago and made a neat little burrow under the ground and into the bin and thereafter proceeded to chuck a pile of compost material in a heap outside. Well, like the gardener, I really don’t mind sharing space and Mrs Mouse was very welcome to have a small cozy home at the bottom of the heap - but no, she has to have an enormous mansion! Every day there was more and more debris pushed out of the bin and onto the surrounding lawn area.

First time around, I enlisted Mike’s help and we turned over the entire bin - good job anyway - and then we dug the edges into the ground as hard as possible and I placed sprigs of holly to deter her. Ha ha. Pathetic idea that I read on the internet which didn’t work. Determined little soul, she just found another gap and did it all over again. And again. Each time I scrape up all the discarded bits and dump them back in again and re-secure the edges. It’s boring and tiresome though I suspect it has been rather good for the compost - it’s looking very dark and crumbly. I thought I’d defeated her with bits of slate and bricks dug in all around the bin, still ridiculously decorated with springs of holly. But no, the tenacious little creature has just gone under the brick. This is how it looked this morning.

She (I presume it’s a she making a home for her babies) is unbelievably determined and I feel rather poor depriving her of a winter home but she’s making an unholy mess and it’s just too much. The landlord hasn't noticed yet, or if he has, he hasn't said.

To add insult to injury we took the car into the garage today because the handbrake light on the dashboard kept staying on. When we lifted the bonnet there was a small pile of nuts and seeds nestling on the radiator. ‘Ah ha’ said the mechanic, ‘you have a boarder in the engine. He’s probably been eating your electric wires!’ It turned out the brake fluid was also low so they topped that up and the light problem appears to have been solved, but now we have to worry about the creature sleeping in the engine and chewing all the wires. Any suggestions?

Having filled the car with petrol, I left Mike to go cycling on the Tarka Trail while I browsed around the Hatherleigh market, which is on every Tuesday. I bought some broccoli. 

I’m ashamed to say I have no such fresh produce still in my garden - all that’s left now is the leeks, plenty of leeks, a bit of spinach, a few salad items and some very sad look cabbages - we don’t even like cabbage! But... I must admit fresh baby cabbage thinly sliced and wilted in a pan with a little butter and seasoning is delicious.  
Hatherleigh market also has an auction every week and we have bought some incredible bargains there. Today I bought a portable hanging rail for clothes for £5. Not the bargain of the century, but I am happy with it. The bargain of the century was a man’s mountain bike in perfect condition, covered in rusty looking dust and grime, which Mike bought for £3. He gloats over that bike every time he uses it.