Our first kills of spring

The arrival of spring is not an unmitigated joy. The warmth is nice, of course, as are the fresh leaves on the trees and the general sense of rebirth and renewal after a dismal, soaking winter. And maybe, if you live in London, there is very little to complain about. There are delightful parks and squares, lovingly tended by others, in which to lie semi-naked in the sun or otherwise disport yourself. Nature in its wantonness is held at bay without any effort on your part. But here in the countryside of Northamptonshire, spring has its dark and menacing side. The daffodils have been splendid, as were the snowdrops before them; but they are over now, and the nettles are rapidly taking over. Meanwhile, my Jack Russell terrier, Polly, has signalled the start of the new season by killing two baby rabbits and proudly delivering each in turn into my house.