Coronavirus lockdown has put a cheeky wee squirrel in my sights– Susan Morrison

The coronavirus lockdown is starting to feel like a horrible extension to the week between Christmas and New Year, writes Susan Morrison.

Spotted: Was it you, little squirrel, who dug up Susan’s bulbs last year? (Picture: Kenny Smith)

Brexit. Remember that? Sounds like a breakfast cereal designed to keep you regular, like Bran Flakes.

Does anyone still eat Bran Flakes? There was an advert, back in the 80s. It had a song that went “They’re tasty, tasty! Very, very tasty, they’re very tasty”. You and I both know that you’re going to have that whizzing about your head for the rest of the day.

Good, don’t see why I should be alone.

Looks like last year’s thing now, Brexit, gone the way of crazes like platform shoes, perms and the F Plan Diet. I suspect, however, that Brexit is like those horror film villains that everyone thinks is dead, but then suddenly leaps up out of the water/bath/grave (delete as applicable).

How are you bearing up under lockdown? It’s turning into a horrible extension of that week between Christmas and New Year where we all wander about demanding to know “what day is it really?”

Matters were not helped by the clocks turning forwards, adding “what time is it really?” for one day at least.

Cooking from recipes

“What’s for dinner?” takes on epic proportions. My family have started to follow recipes, actual written down instructions about how to make some French rustic dish entirely from one tin of baked beans and the heel of a brown loaf.

Who taught them to cook? Not me. I followed a recipe once, but the resulting disaster meant we had to have the kitchen re-decorated.

There are jobs to be done, of course. My sock drawer is a tribute to that tiny Japanese lady who said we should look at all our stuff and ask ourselves, does this spark joy? They’re socks, love, not Faberge eggs. Do they have holes in them? No, so they go back in.

This squirrel’s a Leither

The garden got a bit of a tidy, but, of course with Dobbies in shutdown the annual purchase of begonias and pansies didn’t happen.

On the plus side, I got to eyeball the squirrels who tore up my bulbs earlier in the spring. I particularly marked one with a dark streak down his back.

Pretty sure it is a he. It’s definitely a Leither. Cheeky little blighter literally danced about on the back fence screeching abuse at me like one of the Kirkgate’s more pungent sons doing the celebratory Full Bottle of Bucky Dance. You dance away my little furry friend.

When I was clearing up in the loft, I found an archery set I bought for the kids a couple of Christmases back. I figure a few days training and I can make like Robin Hood and get me enough of those pesky little tree rats to fill a reasonable sized pie.

One of the kids found a recipe.