There is a delicate balance between wanting to see nature in the garden, and suffering the consequences of its visits. I am decidedly at the easy end of the spectrum, and all I have to worry about are a few dollops of fox faeces in return for close-up views of an often regal and handsome beast. In other East Dulwich streets they are less welcome, playing havoc with lawns, and digging holes with seemingly malicious abandon, presumably to get at worms, one of their major food items at this time of year.

Elsewhere gardeners fret over a superabundance of magpies, or sparrowhawks, choosing not to celebrate these wonderful birds’ beauty, poise or cunning, instead blaming them for decimating the local populations of blue tits and goldfinches. Yet further afield deer seem to be a particular problem; this is a very distant rumour for me though, none has yet made its way this far into the capital.

I’m not surprised that deer can be a right pest in the garden, elegant and beautiful though they are. For the last few decades, deer numbers have been increasing almost unchecked, and we now have more of them in the UK than at any other time in the last 1000 years. I just wonder what sort of comments this post would attract if I suggested reintroducing wolves might be the answer?

Perhaps there is another way. A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that she had sourced a muntjac carcass from the National Trust, who occasionally cull them in Hatfield Forest. She was contemplating recipes with a gusto bordering on unseemliness: “That’ll teach them to eat our garden…” Revenge is sweet. Or, in this case, for her, savoury.

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