So, yesterday afternoon I'm minding my own business, messing around with some helicopter tape, or something, in a quiet house, when I hear tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa.......
That's odd, I thought, the guys upstairs are out..... then I hear it again, but louder, tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa-tippa-tappa....... And there it is! In the hallway outside the doorway to my office / studio.
A Bloody Squirrel!
He's clocked me and made a dash for the communal front hall (my front door was open - as was my back door - clearly through which he had availed himself of access to my home).
Good, I thought, at least he's heading for the front door, I'll go into the communal hallway, open the street door and that'll be the end of it.
But no. As I approached the communal hallway I could see he was cowering up by the street door.
Now, the communal hallway is a modest affair. An airlock between the street, and the two apartments it serves. No more than 5m
3 in size.
I'm not about to enter this space and close the door behind me, in order to afford the squirrel egress, at least not while he showing very poor attitude towards his host, by hissing and squealing and spitting in my direction.
I must approach this suitably equipped, I thought, so I stepped back into my office and armed myself with what was closest to hand, which in this case happened to be a recently retired pair of Easton EC70 carbon forks (Alloy steerer, y'see) and a Lidl 3W Cree LED torch.
In my brief absence he took his chance, scurried from the hallway and dived into my front room and behind the stereo which occupies most of the bay window.
A few deft prods with the forks behind the stereo and I had him out of there, but under the sofa. Whereupon I couldn't see him.
I couldn't see him because he'd gone down the centre of a Persian rug I have rolled up under there.
Had I been smart, I would've closed off both ends of the rug, carried said rug to the outdoors, and released him back into the wild (wild in a South London kinda way).
But no. My heart was pumping (I know it's supposed to, but
this much?) I was riled (afraid). I pulled the rolled rug from under the sofa, and got as far as saying 'You f'in bast.....' before he shot out of the end of the plush tube like it was a rifled gun barrel, and straight into my office, and under the raised floor beneath which all of the IT cabling lives.
Errol Flynn-like I went in there on all fours, with the carbon forks, stabbing and swashbuckling (what
is swashbuckling?) freely. I could see him amongst the Jesus Cables in a corner - giving me Teh Eye - fearlessly, I swore at him mid-prod, just as he elected to make his bid for freedom, back out into the hall and down the length of my apartment.
Straight into my bedroom.
B0ll0X!
That's the last place I want him.
This has gone on too long, already, I thought. I need to develop a strategy here.
Now, my flat is long and thin. If you were making spaghetti, or extruding something, it'd be the ideal location. Estate agents acting on my behalf, have been known to salivate excessively the moment they discover that a potential buyer is an extruder. But I digress.....
Teh Strategy consisted of closing all of the doors, leaving open just the door to the back garden (the door being located in a dog-leg part of the hallway) while I made my way towards the bedroom in the east wing.
Could I find him in there?
No.
I lifted the duvet.
He wasn't under there.
Under the bed?
Not enough space to hide a squirrel.
Or so I thought...
By now, I appreciate that he must be sufficiently petrified to evacuate his bowels without further intervention from me, or the carbon forks. (I'm not sure the Lidl LED torch contributed to his terror in any way - but it meant that I was able to see exactly how much dust had accumulated under my bed - a lot - during what has come to be known as 'The dusty years'). I really didn't want him to poop under my bed (or anywhere else, for that matter.)
After what seemed like a lifetime (probably about 2 minutes) I found him cornered under the bed, behind a plan chest drawer which contains around 300 compact cassettes (remember them?).
A few skilled stabs and prods of the forks later, and he was out of the room like a shot.
Great!, I thought I'll just chase him up the hallway, he'll pursue the line of least resistance, and bid me his leave via the back door. Perhaps with a small wave, as he goes.
Did he f**k!
Such was his fear, that his peripheral vision missed the open doorway to freedom in the dog-leg of the hall, and headed straight for the cul-de-sac of the hallway at the front of the house.
I followed.
Whereupon he took it upon himself to start climbing the walls. My Pristine White Walls! The F***er!
As I approached him, I was still prepared to reason with him at this point, he hissed at me and shot past, down the hallway, through the dog-leg, and straight into the bloody bedroom again (as is evident, my strategy had a massive loophole in it vis-a-vis closing doors in rooms after I have left them
)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Back in the bedroom again, a further 5 minutes or so of dust jousting with the forks, illuminated by 3Ws of Cree LED saw him leave the room. Followed shortly thereafter, by me. Closing The Door Behind Me This Time, OK?
So, Squirrel Nutkin's environment has now been constrained.
It consists of a long, long (extrusion friendly) hallway (albeit with a dog-leg) with all possible exits blocked, leaving just the one via the open door to my back garden.
This was starting to have a feeling of Ridley Scott's Alien about it - when they're trying to restrict the movement of IT by blocking off zones....
The tree rat must've traversed the length of my apartment a further five or six times, whizzing past me whilst hissing and spitting while I used bad language, before finally,
f***ing finally, a helpful kick from my instep guided him towards the open back door, and out to the natural delights of South London.
I cycle ~14miles a day to work daily, and arrive with my pulse rate close to resting or resting very shortly thereafter.
10 minutes with this little f***er and my pulse rate was commensurate with the BPM of a
gabber nightclub, half an hour after the event!
B@st@rd squirrel.