Friday, January 03, 2014
In which we mean business
After a brief détente hostilities have recommenced with the moles of Trelystan.
As Moriarty is to Holmes, or Tom to Jerry, so Mr Diggory Diggory Delvet is to the Glam Ass - a lawn excavating foe of the first water. War is declared.
Brutal looking traps have been set by gloved hands in the correct runs. Lethal pellets have been carefully placed and watered to release their toxic gas. A buzzing battery powered gadget shudders periodically. The hunting dog occasionally presents us with a well licked corpse. (We speculate these may well have been caught by next door's cat anyway.)
All this to no avail. Hills continue to rise.
It's time to bring on the big guns; the Michael Bublé greetings card.
Open the card and Michael wishes Mum a very Happy Christmas...potentially over and over again, ad infinitum. How irritating is that?
I'm hoping that when the little recorded gizmo is removed from the card and slipped into a mole run the moles will be as alarmed as I was and run for the hills as fast as their stumpy little legs can carry them.
Worth a try I think. Any better ideas gratefully received.