Dad took me out for the afternoon to Rievaulx Terraces in North Yorkshire, an eighteenth century
pleasure-grounds now in the care of the National Trust. There were lots of holes in the lawns and
one of the gardeners said ruefully that they've had a big problem with moles this year.
I'd like to meet a mole but Dad says they only come out at night.
If we waited here till dusk, do you think the moles would be pleased to see me?