Last summer, Mr Mole was that unwelcome guest at a party who refuses to leave. We tried everything – organic repellent, castor oil spray, coffee grains, stomping and wailing too – all to nought. Mr Mole simply moved home to a different corner of our small plot. In desperation, we invested in an industrial strength sonic spike to drive the little bugger out. Despite plenty of hard evidence to the contrary, it worked. Rather than buy a pair of ear plugs, Mr Mole upped sticks to greener, less noisy pastures.

Chances are it’s a lost cause. We’re surrounded by fields and thickets littered with molehills. Flat, wet and fertile, the land serves up a juicy banquet of bugs and grubs – enough to fatten an unholy legion of the pesky pests. Our weekly constitutional takes us across Chedgrave Common, a boggy meadow punctured by muddy mountains of stone and soil, an obvious sign of the city of moles that lies beneath.

This is their party and we are the unwelcome guests.

6 thoughts on “Mole-opolis

  1. Yes, very annoying – mine create molehills to rival the Pyramids of Egypt and nothing has worked, so now I just scoop up the lovely sifted soil for my most pampered plants. Free compost. But do look carefully at those molehills on your walks: archeologists always check them to see what moles have brought up, and have found previously unknown sites that way. Ancient coins, pottery etc. Who needs a metal detector? Good luck!

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