Liberator 332 will be with subscribers by now, so it is time to enjoy another week at Bonkers Hall.Monday
To Northumberland for a day’s squirrel shooting with my old friend Rupert Redesdale. Do you know him? He is some sort of nephew of the Mitford gels (I seem to recall that one of them married Hitler; they were an absolute scream) and very Sound on preventing the incursion of the grey squirrel into the county.
Whereas our native red likes cricket, morris dancing and good ale, and understands the principles of queuing, the brash American Grey chews gum, flashes its money about and demands good service in hotels. Clearly, it must be extirpated from these islands.
When I arrive, Redesdale has had word from his spies that a grey has been sighted in Kielder Forest, so we lose no time in taking off for that bosky locale in his family tank. The day provides meagre sport but, while we are waiting for the enemy to show itself, Redesdale explains that he hopes to win the contract from Walker’s Crisps to provide their new squirrel flavour. By the sound of it, if successful he could be on to a Very Good Thing.
Later, as I wait on Morpeth station for the train south, a grey squirrel taunts me from an overhanging sycamore, making rude gestures and pelting me with its nuts.
If it threw its nuts away, maybe its less likely to breed. M'Lord should encourage more of this behaviour.
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