Night moves

While fellow gardeners dream of future glories, Toby spends the wee small hours revelling in the night life

- Toby Buckland

I ’VE just spent the night in the garden – not because I’ve lost the house keys, but as a show of support for Send a Cow’s ‘Gardens for Good’ Campaign.

I wish I could say that pitching a tent on the lawn and sleeping under the stars was like taking a holiday at home, but it wasn’t. Not only do I lack comfortable camping equipment, but it turns out that my garden is noisier than downtown Marrakesh on market day.

From the moment the sun went down, the hullabaloo of the birds was incessant, with seagulls cackling at their own jokes, followed at midnight by a blackbird trilling the last post from a spot right by my tent. After a few short hours, he packed up his bugle only for a barn owl to take up the chorus with its bloodcurdling screech.

By 3.30am, as wide awake as a possum on Red Bull, I took the decision to quit the tent and find a useful job to do in the garden.