The Mysterious Case of the Missing Tomato

Total relaxation achieved primarily because the entire island of Anglesey shuts at 7.30pm after which there is nothing to do but sleep. We took the precaution of filling up our tanks on fish & chips in Conway before heading across the Menai Straits. Unfortunately, we'd not bothered filling the Mini Cooper with petrol and only just made it to Cemaes on vapours in the pouring rain. I'm not sure Lorraine appreciated me singing snippets from the Rocky Horror Picture Show at odd intervals.

A large part of the rest of the weekend was spent throwing a ball for Bella, Loll's Working Cocker Baby Substitute on assorted beaches around the North Western tip of the island. I did manage to steer us over to South Stack RSPB Reserve during a glorious sunny spell on Saturday afternoon and might well have converted Lorraine with the spectacular sights of thousands of nesting guillemots, razorbills, puffins and some egg-stealing ravens ( ahem!) had she not learned that many reserves do not welcome dogs.

We kept ourselves regularly topped up with delicious artisan sausages, local cheeses and a very non-Atkins afternoon tea prepared by the proprietoress of the Jam Factory( whose remarkably gravity-defying hair appears to have started to grow in the shape of the traditional chimney hat that she wears for the benefit of American tourists).

Tim joined us later in the evening, too late to find anywhere to eat locally so I vapourised any thoughts of freshly-caught lobster and happily tucked into an Indian takeaway which was the only thing available short of driving to Cardiff.

I got back last night after a stroll around Plas Newydd ( where I stumbled upon a pair of tree-creepers feeding their young in a nest in a crevice in a Giant Redwood trunk - I filmed it but fortunately have no idea how to upload video) pleased to see my son, my cat and the familiar piles of ironing and general household detritus. All was just as I'd left it on Friday morning, including the pots in the sink and the specimen thistles in the lawn.

It was only when I stepped out the back door that I saw it, or rather didn't see it. There was a large empty hole where one of my tomato plants should have been growing. There was no evidence of a struggle, no spilled soil or tell-tale muddy footprints leading out of the securely-bolted 6ft high security gates. The 5 remaining sextuplets seemed completely undisturbed. A thorough interrogation of Jack, who'd spent the weekend at Alisdair's and Darius, who appeared to have spent it sleeping in the Shed feasting on a strictly carnivorous diet of Mouse Tartare from the number of discarded offal lying in the corner, failed to throw any light on the situation.

Who ever heard of a tomato plant leaving home? Has it gone out to seek its fortune? It was a MoneyMaker after all. Could it have been abducted by aliens intent on increasing their flavonids and Vitamin C levels? What if it had been fruitnapped and would be sent back to me, leaf by leaf, until I agreed to their high demands? - a pepper plant in return for the fat red plums.

Did you see anything? If you did, call CrimeGrowers. You won't receive a Community Action reward but your comments will be taken seriously.