This is the last picture of the marauding piglets, on the loose along the Ormsaigbeg road and about to overturn our neighbour's dustbins. Hughie rang on Saturday night to say he was moving them. The Diary and Mrs Diary had begun to crack open a bottle of champagne when Hughie added, "....to the field behind your house."
The road is separated from our house by a substantial stone wall and a galvanised iron gate, all reinforced with razor wire; the vegetable garden at the back has nothing but thin wire between us and the unthinkable.
On Sunday morning we anxiously checked our vegetables for piglet damage. They were untouched. Betsy's old enclosure, a mass of mud, lay empty. We went up the back and looked for piglets. We hunted through bracken and brambles. We couldn't find them.
Either Hughie's enjoying a Hughie joke, or the piglets are roaming free somewhere between here and the lighthouse, and will shortly be mugging old ladies on the lighthouse road, or the snake wasn't an adder but a boa constrictor.