Wanton destruction 1

On Tuesday I had five very excitable friends over and likened their glee to kids in a sweet shop (see My seeds are for sharing).

Now even those without parental knowledge are aware what happens when one sweet too many (or should that be one sweet) passes the lips to trigger what can only be described as instant turbo fuel injection.

In the interest of sharing the harvesting pleasure I gifted the delicate task of picking salad leaves to one of my friends.

When said friend returned with a bunch of leaves, roots attached in hand I must admit i feared for my lettuce.

Then yesterday morning I stepped out to a heartbreaking scene:

Now, if you've not yet grown your own salad you may be wondering what all the cries of pain are about. To you this may seem like a few wilted and broken leaves among a healthy bed. To me Colonel Hathi and his pachyderm have just charged through.

You see, once you start growing something weird and quite frankly disturbing happens. Every leaf matters.

If you try and wash the leaves in a sieve and one makes a suicidal leap into the sink you become a Samaritan and thrust out a hand to catch it.

So the next time I ask someone to pick my salad, there will be instructions.