WELL, it can't be said that Teacher Tess is not a trier. For the past week, she has been trying everything she knows, pulling every string she can get her hands on.

But despite all her efforts, the rabbit warren under her new garden decking gets more populous by the day as rabbits do what rabbits do.

They have now taken the tops of her onions and shallots and her trial asparagus bed has become a trendy underground eating place: the coneys have burrowed into it and eat the shoots before they even have time to break the surface.

Husband Teacher Tim, who shelled out a lot of cash for his asparagus crowns, is not at all best pleased: it takes at least three years to get an asparagus bed into full production and this lot had been in barely six months and may never see the light of day.

So Tess, now on holiday and with nowt else to do, started working the phones. The council say they can't do anything because it might upset animal-loving voters (of whom Tess is a passionate ex-member).

The local farm supply shop would sell her poison pellets if she signed the poisons register and fenced off the area to keep domestic pets and children out but she baulked at the idea in the end: "I just cannot stand the idea of fouling the environment," she said in tears.

So, tail between her legs, she went to Hard Rock farm where, as I reported last week, Owd Tom is still ferretless following the recent demise of Ferocious Fred, worn out in his lonely battle against the rabbit hordes which are now stripping Beggarsdale bare.

Tom met her on the back doorstep, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Tess swallowed hard. "This is difficult for me, Tom, but I'm at the end of my tether. I realise Fred is dead but do you by any chance know anyone else with ferrets who could come and clear my garden."

For a moment, it seemed as though she would cry and Tom, who is much softer than he pretends - particularly with ladies in distress - put a grimy palm on her shoulder. This gesture did not, however, stop him spotting a potential business opportunity.

"As a matter a'fact, lass, ah'm thinkin' of gerrin me sen a new ferret..." He shook his head. "Trouble is, a good animal costs a pretty penny these days and times is 'ard for us farmin' folk these days."

Tess blinked: "A new one... eh ... how much would you say?"

"That's 'ard t'tell, lass," said Tom, his bland expression well disguising the cash register tinkling away in his head. "Ah suppose about fifty quid..."

Tess's eyes widened. "Fifty pounds for a ..." but she stopped herself. After all, the landscape gardener's bill had been over £1,000 and they had spent several hundreds more on plants, organic fertilisers and the like.

Tess held up her hand and laid it on top of Tom's, still on her shoulder, then removed it instantly when she realised just how grimy this old paw was: "Well, if ...if we bought the thing, would you keep clear out garden for us. And keep it clear, that is...?"

"Ah reckon that's a reasonable proposition lass," said Tom. "Ah'll see what I can do..."

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a mythical character in a non-existent village