Mouse!

A mouse!

A mouse in broad daylight no less.

Brave mouse.

...

Well OK not so brave, it popped out from under the skirting of the big cupboard* in the corner of my kitchen/office, saw me, popped back in and then freaked out and ran under the fridge when I opened said cupboard to see where it came from.

It came from a hole where the studding wall of the cupboard meets the floorboards. Or rather doesn't meet the floorboards.

This is the third time (in two and a half years) that I've seen a mouse in my house. The first this year, but also the first ever in daylight (the other two were furtive night time mices as one expects). Its boldness - coupled with it being in my kitchen - make me think I should be doing something about it. Presuming mouse-boldness indicates competition for food and/or space under the floor**, which in turn I presume indicates a many of mices under my floor.

I don't want to kill them though.

I also don't want them in/on my food/food preparation places.

hm.

For the time being (since there's no evidence of mouse anywhere that food is kept or prepared - I checked thoroughly!) I think I shall live and let live, but keeping an eye out for further mouse-ey incursions. Loath though I am to start killing the wee buggers, I really can't have them making free with the kitchen.

* said cupboard is where I store Henry (the hoover) a bucket and other such large cleaning related miscellany... had mouse emerged from a food cupboard I'd be out at the shop buying traps but as it is...

** where, I'm reconciled to the fact, there will always be mice. I live in an old building in the middle of a city after all.
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Ding Dong

So I wasn't going to blog about this.

Yes, I know I've not been blogging about anything much lately so big whoop, yes?

Well I wasn't... But then Hamish pointed something out to me and I wanted to share it. Hame's been one of my best friends for such a long time that I forget sometimes this isn't the land he was born into. On April 8th he emailed me with thanks for preparing him for this day. Amongst other things I'd once played him a particular Hefner song. I remembered - reading that email - how startled my archetypally Canadian friend was early in our relationship when my South Yorkshire roots showed through on the subject of this one poisonous bag.

Hatred doesn't figure in my make up. It doesn't, any of you who know me, know that. Margaret Thatcher was the exception who proved that rule.

I occasionally cite primary school craft lessons (where - teachers colluding - we'd craft clay effigies of the then-Prime Minister's head and then mangle them while gleefully singing "here's Maggie Thatcher, Throw her up and catch her, Squish-squash squish-squash, There's Maggie Thatcher" - I'm not making that up.) but they're symptoms not causes. Thatcher's influence on my generation was polarising, and I - by nature - gravitated into hating the woman, against my own nature.

Anyway back to Hamish. Today he sent me a link. I've never had much time for Russell Brand in the past but the Guardian article Hame pointed me at is beautiful.

if you opposed Thatcher's ideas it was likely because of their lack of compassion, which is really just a word for love. If love is something you cherish, it is hard to glean much joy from death, even in one's enemies.

Perhaps for the first time that explains to me my own struggle with vehemently hating someone when hatred isn't something I understand?

Thatcher's time in power was solely spent diminishing the resources of those who had least for the advancement of those who had most. I know from my own indulgence in selfish behaviour that it's much easier to get what you want if you remove from consideration the effect your actions will have on others.

I find I'm smiling, nodding, and (perhaps) understanding something new. Who knew?

I maintain (as I did on the 8th) that I'd have to be a massive hypocrite to claim to feel anything other than elated at the news that this poisonous, destructive and vile woman has - at long last - departed. I'm many things, but hypocritical isn't one of them. I'm unsettled though to think that - perhaps - my very determination to hate her, is part of the woman's legacy.
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