Christmas - The John Lewis Way

What a few weeks it has been. America has chosen the love child of a Lego character to run their country and more importantly, my car has died.

The fuel pump on my faithful Ford Focus chose to give up the ghost after 175,123 miles and so the All Terrain Focus is no more. The Music Teacher’s husband once asked me if it was 4 wheel drive and I replied that it wasn’t but it went over any terrain and hence its nick name. Its replacement has been nicknamed “The Licence Taker” as I felt that “The Widow Maker” was a little macabre. The new car is an incredible machine as it has an engine so big I could use it to power a cross channel ferry.

I have so far driven it with the same respect that I offer a pint of Martini. And I am not referring to the Martini that is poured straight from the bottle but the kind that is a 50/50 mixture of gin and Vermouth, poured over ice into a Martini glass and decorated with an olive on a cocktail stick. The Licence Taker is mighty fast and needs respect. I will continue to respect it until I have been done for doing 35mph in a 30mph zone. Then I will cane it, just to see how fast it can go. And so far, no road in my local area is long enough to find out how fast The Licence Taker actually is.

Aside from my lovely new car, another thing that has happened in the past few weeks is the John Lewis Christmas advert. If you’ve been in the cupboard under the stairs of late, you can click here to watch it.

As I watched the John Lewis advert for the first time, I found myself smiling up until the point where the 2 foxes appear and begin to bounce on the trampoline. “Oh good” I thought, “the trampoline is now covered in ticks, lice, fleas and mange”. As if this isn’t bad enough a badger then clambers onto the trampoline, so there’s also a good chance that the small child will contract Tuberculosis on Christmas morning.

Crickey if I saw a badger on Britney (not her real name)’s trampoline I would be dashing outside with a pressure washer, some bleach and a bucket of antibiotics. The advert then continues with the arrival of the Squirrel Pox Virus in the guise of a jolly giant grey rat with a fluffy tail. If this was happening in my garden I would be reaching for Other Half’s gun. And I am a crap shot. There literally is more chance of Jenson Button enjoying a drive in a Toyota Aygo, than me actually shooting something successfully. I couldn’t hit a barn door even if I was sitting on it.

And this means that in reality should I see a horrible Grey Squirrel on Britney’s trampoline, I would be heading out into the garden armed with an unloaded shotgun and hoping to club the little sod to death. I’ve checked on the Grey Squirrel control website and they say:

“Under the Pest Act 1954 Section 8 and the Welfare of Animals (Northern Ireland) Act 1972 Article 21, it is an offence, in respect of any animal, to use or permit the use of:

1)         an unapproved spring trap (e.g. a gin trap which is a form of spring trap with toothed jaws, banned in 1958).

2)         an approved trap in unapproved circumstances”

No mention of clubbing the little bastards to death so I think it might be alright to do so.

According to Red Squirrels Northern England, it is illegal to release a Grey Squirrel or allow one to escape. And this is why when I saw a Grey Squirrel running along the road a few months back I tried desperately to run it over. I missed the bloody thing and so now I am fully expecting the strong arm of the law to come knocking on my front door.

The Victorians saw the Sciurus carolinensis (Pox-riddled Grey Squirrel), as something of a fashionable addition to their country estates and they began introducing them to England, Scotland and Wales in 1876. By 1931 a National campaign was launched to combat the spread of the Grey and by 1933 it became illegal to import and release them or keep them captive without a licence.

It is now estimated that the Grey Squirrel costs the British Economy £14 million a year.

The Red Squirrel has been here since the end of the last ice age and it seems a bit unfair that the Latin name for the Red Squirrel is Sciurus vulgaris. It makes him sound nasty and he’s not; he’s beautiful, he’s delicate and he’s under massive threat. There are still places where you can see Red Squirrels and in fact the photographs I have used on this post were taken in North Northumberland by my friend The Aigle Welly Wearer. I think she did a marvellous job considering how fast the little buggars move.

Unfortunately I haven’t asked her permission to use these pictures so I’ll probably get sued if she reads this, but I would rather be sued for posting a photograph of a Red Squirrel than be arrested for being unable to run over a Grey one.