After an accident with a pair of secateurs, whilst hastily pruning some honeysuckle, the index finger of my left hand is now a bit shorter and is swaddled in bandages. There is something pathetic about injuries as small as this but if you are a photographer and writer, which entails manual dexterity, an abnormally large index finger can be vexing. The upshot of this tragedy is that I went for a peaceful drive around the local countryside to check out how the veal is developing. Seeing these little creatures with their mothers, oblivious of impending doom, put my sore finger into perspective. However, I won’t be eating them because I think they are too delightful, and I can’t think of a good reason for killing them when young. I sort of feel the same about lamb and suckling pig. These are very unsound emotions as I have fond memories of calves’ liver, gigot and roast suckling pig. The point is that I couldn’t kill any of them. I bet the humane killer hurts a lot more than cutting off the end of your finger with a pair of secateurs.