Marked Squirrel

Over the past year or two, for some unknown reason, I've become mildly obsessed with encouraging birds into my back garden (and I'm not alluding to the Sheila and Mandy from 'Oh My Cod' chippie in Bournemouth during that unfortunate incident...).  I'd purchased the necessary starter paraphernalia, a selection of fine nuts and precision seeds and set them up in safe yet viewable location.

It took a while but soon enough out came the chaffs; the tits; sparrows; red robin Gibbs; feral pigeons; starlings; the  Geeks; sportos, motorheads,  dweebs, dorks, sluts, buttheads...I adored them all.  The highlight was a woody, woody woodpecker....fascinating creatures.

I swear I also saw the ghost of Rod Hull and Emu straddling the branch of my Doyenne De Comerce Pear Tree, although this viewing was, admittedly, after my mother in law had laced my Rooibos tea with PCP, LSD and an old Texas Instruments LCD for a laugh. 

However, of late we've had an influx of Machiavellian 'urban street squirrels' playing havoc with the natural eco system of our back yard.  Initially these pesky little things were held in high esteem within the extended family: often a display of their antics (involving Shaolin aerobics upon fences and around silver birch trees) was a cause of much mirth and balsamic gaiety.  It was remarked that watching this display was not unlike an episode of 'Jim: The Bergerac' crossed with a manga version of Channel 4's 'Skins'.

The 'fun' soon enough twitched it's ominous eye, flipped onto all fours and became 'unfun'.

They've part destroyed my bird feeding equipment (squirrel safe according to quite frankly false disclaimers) and mouth pocketed a large supply of the food intended for my British Birds. 

And so this week I read about Captain Mark E Smiths from the band 'the Falls' admittance of Squirrel Murder somewhere in the Greater Manchester conurbation.  Sadly, belying my own pacifistic outlook, I'm coming round to the fact that this route may be the way forward in order to save the bird party back stage, lawn left.  Perhaps there's an old British recipe for cooking  squirrels in a garlic and walnut roux?  Or maybe I'll search the world wide wap for a humane squirrel trap and let them out in some other region.  As it happens, I've seen reports today, via the television system, that there are prominent squirrel culls happening up and down the country and that the not so aerobic carcasses are now being offered as deluxe game.

I'll keep you posted.