THIS week we said a fond farewell to the failing septic tank in our garden and a hello to mains sewage.

It saw the end of a process that started a year ago and has involved an incredible amount of red tape, phone calls and form filling, in addition to the digging of a very big hole.

We are so pleased that we have to be held back from inviting passer-bys in to use the loo.

But we will miss the lovely man with the long hose who has emptied our tank for the last five years and has gained a particular insight into our family.

A mixture of sunshine and showers means that plants on the allotment are getting a move on.

I use the word "plants" loosely to include all manner of inedible things that are also thriving such as bindweed and dandelions (although I'm sure if things get desperate I can make some sort of dandelion brew).

This week I accompany a friend on an inspection of her new plot. It is covered with grass and could take a while to sort out but she is bursting with pride.

We can both see beyond the hard graft and look forward to the riches that she will be laying on her family's table in years to come.

Husband's "plot" is doing well although he is having trouble coming to terms with the damage that unknown beasties have done to his cauliflower seedlings. "Well, that's veg growing," I say, sagely (I have been at this game for four years now after all). "It's war out there."

He shoots a look at me that says "things like that may happen regularly to your plants, but not to mine." and places a torch by the front door. "If they're operating under cover of darkness I'll catch them," he says.

I have visions of him wearing camouflage clothes as he goes on his evening sorties. Perhaps he has taken my "war" metaphor a step too far.