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There's not much happening in my garden this week. I think we're scaring everything away. And I can't just blame the cats stalking their quarry; Saturday's bouncy castle and baker's dozen of squawking three- and four-year-olds hasn't added much

these wonderful creatures in my back garden. South London is now about the only place in the UK where you can regularly see these awesome monsters. My supposition is that when the housing boom spread across the area 100 to 150 years ago, it was one of the most

The only wildlife I've seen this week has been the rather dead-life brought in by the cats - three and a half mice and a rat not much smaller than our guinea pig. I'm more or less calm that we have mice in the compost bins, but I'm uneasy about

to chalk up 15 of my 124 target actions. These are mostly by the simple expedient of not cutting the grass, not winter deadheading, clearing out the pond when I repaired it and by having more than my fair share of thickets.The thickets are obviously paying

the garden, but our resident south London foxes liked to play with them and many have been damaged or gone missing. Those that remain are nailed to the shed and the flagpole. The sheep jawbone eventually also fell apart because of their meddling, but the cat

queen wasp making a nest in the shed. Much as I like wasps, and no matter how long I bang on about them being 'the gardener's friends' - helpful, interesting and attractive - I can't have a nest of 10 thousand of them guarding the rakes and spades