Monday, 6 December 2010

My love is like a red, red nose, correction rose

Botticelli. More pink than red, really. Still blooming strongly despite frosts and glacial winds from Norfolk. All the other roses have been pruned right back - growth followeth the knife - but it would be a shame to prune this one while it's still on track to give us flowers for Christmas.

If you don't find this very interesting, here's a photo of some wild boar piglets we came across on a forest walk about 18 months ago.

I wonder if these are the very same wild boar which, having grown into adults, ploughed up so much of our garden last summer? And I wonder if, as a result of the distant shots we hear every weekend, they've now reaped the whirlwind and are now steaks, chops and pâté?

Deservedly? I wouldn't say so. I don't much care for them being killed for the sake of killing them. We don't buy wild boar meat. I'm quite happy for them to rootle about in their own necks of the woods. If they must ravage people's gardens, let it be someone else's. Nimby. Our good friend and much-valued neighbour M. Hector is bound to have a view on this.


Vicus Scurra said...

Funny, nature, innit?

Christopher said...

Really bizarre, Vicus. Someone ought to take it in hand and organise it properly.

moreidlethoughts said...

Vive le sanglier! (That's French for Go! piggy!)

Z said...

We don't have any wild boar in our garden. I wouldn't mind them rootling in our garden. We do have a fox though, which has eaten most of the wild rabbits. If it starts on our chickens, I'd be happy to shoot it. If I could shoot.

Dave said...

I'd happily shoot the cats who treat my gravel paths as litter trays.

Christopher said...

MIT: Yes, and I wish it would.

Z: Certainly they make a thorough job of turning the earth over, but then they're looking mostly for worms. Wormless soil isn't up to much, as Fred Streeter used to claim in his promotion of Plantoids.

Dave: I expect you remember Fred Streeter? Z may wish to consult the Long Stratton oracle. Nibus tells me the ideal discouragement for cats in places you don't want them is a water-pistol.

Dave said...

A 12-bore discourages them even more. So might 12 boars, I suppose.

Hector said...

Hate to be a boar (sorry bore) but the proliferation of our rooting friends is the fault of the all-powerful French chasse. Some years ago, concerned that there were not enough wild boar to hunt, they started to cross them with domestic pigs - the huge explosion in numbers is a result of the increased fecundity of the animals which were subsequently released. Not only are there more of them but they have lost a large part of their fear of man - hence frequent raids on village gardens.

We recently suffered from a large sounder of boar which decided to have a party on our field - holes up to a foot deep were left behind in profusion. Fortunately they have not been back. However, our big problem here is not so much boar but rabbits - again the responsibility of the chasse who breed and release them into the countryside.

That's my rant for the week. Victor Meldrew (aka Hector) is alive and well and living in France!

Spadoman said...

Around here, wild boar are "in season" every day of the year with no limit! I've never seen one, but I am told the population is staggering and the damage produced is worthy of such an agressive campaign to rid the state of them.
By the way, I quit hunting years ago, but I have hunted deer and waterfowl at one time in my life.
The last time you visited my place, I was in the middleof the Virgin a Day meme. I still am, until the 12th. You mentioned the Virgin of Montserrat. Another blogger wrote aboutnher. Here's the link:

I'll be back to normal soon. I ove the roses in December. It's so freakin' cold here my cojones are up to my neck.


letouttoplay said...

How civilised to be planning Boticelli for Christmas! Our last flower gave up after the recent frost so we will have to make do with berries and leaves.
We don't often see boar around here except on the local game butcher's counter but for rootling, we have a tremendously active mole. Nothing deters it, not even a hard frost.

Christopher said...

Hector: As I expected, authoritative and eloquent. If only la chasse would train the wild boar to hunt the rabbits. Or vice versa.

Spadoman: Thanks for the link, much appreciated. That C.O.Jones, didn't he have a twin?

Mig: I have heard that putting a firework - something simple like a Golden Rain - into a mole run will clear it of moles without harming them. Because the firework stench lingers, they don't come back, at least until the following Nov. 5th.

english inukshuk said...

cute boar piglets!

I once went to a wedding in France where I was shown photos of the nephew of the bride and his first boar kill - must have been the size of a small cow: it was huge!!!!!!

Anonymous said...

With them snuffling hogs running rampant and chewing-up quaint gardens suggests the planting of deterrent prickly species has to be the ordering for nature. Looks like une pelouse anglaise must be eschewed in certain foreign quarters while native runters are inclined to go a-rooting. Beautiful thorny roses, clearly, look after themselves if grubby inquisitive snouts decide to poke and prospect spiny love fests amongst precious edible floribunda. I'm all for encouraging equally decorous poisonous woodland and meadow blooms - just as beautiful for the garden to deter, in my case, yowling feline defecations. We know there's much planting wizardry to be conjured still, as against a cacophony of repetitive hogwash from ubiquitous gardening experts across the media. In the circumstances a garden full of hog-weed would be the perfect answer. Ha! Ha!