November, 1852
My father caught me kissing Brigitta in the compost heap. He is displeased and has instructed me to take up a hob- by. I have decided to breed wasps. I will be selecting for speed, aggression and strength of sting.
February, 1853
My wasp breeding has had unexpect- ed results. Frau Maria Shmidt from the village visited our house to complain about the buzzing and the wasps stung her head off. My father has instructed me to enter a monastery so I can no longer embarrass the family.
June, 1854
Life in the monastery is difficult. The clothes are shapeless and the banter is stale. Friar Braun throws his rubbish at me and says because I touched it last I have to put it in the bin. I seek solace in the garden, amongst the peas.
July, 1854
I have begun to breed the peas in the grounds of the abbey. With rigor- ous experimentation I have determined that when two peas have sex they make a baby pea. I have sent a letter full of peas to the University of Vienna, but am yet to hear back.
May, 1860
Things have escalated into weirdness. It began by breeding white-flowering peas with purple-flowering peas, then peas with ants and, well, now I have bred a pea with a dog. I have named the off- spring Harold. He is green and unhappy.
October, 1864
Just when I thought things could not get any odder, blow me down, they have. I have been working very closely with the peas for such a long time and well, one thing leads to another, and needless to say, I am banging the peas. This is a definite low.
January, 1884
I have been struck ill with a severe and unpleasant malady. The doctors say it will pass, but I fear that there is something fundamentally toxic within the peas. Will we ever truly understand how a pea works? Certainly not, but what they can teach us about the world is invaluable. If I have seen further than most, it is by standing on the shoulders of a pea.