My enthusiasm for the worms is not reciprocated. They're officially on strike and the food has piled up and is starting to smell. My husband complains that it's not a wormery but a 'fly-ery'. The neighbours must be wondering what's going on – whenever I lift the lid for a peek, a black cloud rises up as the insects make a bid for freedom.  A friend who has a successful wormery tells me to leave the worms in peace for a week or two, so our scraps are back in the bin. I feel strangely ashamed – reminds me of when I had an aquarium and the fish kept dying. When I went in to the pet shop for the third time to buy more, they refused to sell me any until I brought in a water sample so they could sort things out. 'Fish-killer' I could hear them thinking. I have read that if the wormery conditions aren't right, the worms will try to climb out of the box – or will expire. Who'd have thought such a lowly life form was so high-maintenance? If my worms don't survive I may begin to doubt my parenting skills – surely children are more complex. I can do this!