We noted the arrival of several Tonka toys and a pile of gravel yesterday: the good Malcolm getting round to the track, we thought. Yesterday included a somewhat belated moving of pots out of the greenhouse: I thought it mightn’t be sensible to put stuff at the front because of the gutters, and maybe not in my Mediterranean garden at the back which is about to turn into a building site as the extension is knocked down, so I decided that for the time being the blue pots could march down the wall at the end of my garden. Very pretty they looked. However, by about 10 this morning the wall at the end of my garden was at one with Niniveh and Tyre: on Malcolm’s agreed agenda, albeit somewhat forgotten about by us because miles down the list of priorities compared with the track, was knocking down my wall and putting a land drain down the middle of my garden — for some reason he elected to start with this, and a huge archaeological looking trench gaped down the length of the lawn. He’s made a good job of making good, though regrettably he has contrived to run over the edges of the border getting his machinery in, pulverising my white Jacob’s Ladders and a perfectly good hosta. It’ll come right in the end, no doubt. What Miss Kit thought of roaring, grabbing, clanking giant machines in the middle of HER GARDEN was obviously inexpressible but she was utterly horrified.