Calm down, dear!

Tonight I was planning to write a catch-up piece of stuff since my last entry. It was shaping up to be a cavalcade of fun: going to Brighton, comedy sunburn, not watching the England v Portugal game (bloody hell, you’d think I’d punched a nun in the face by the reaction I got after that), crying at the separation of Dr Who and Rose Tyler, my new bird feeder (take that pigeons!), my impending jaunt across the world, the real live debut of DJ Disco Factors, my fab idea for a post-wedding gift, celebrity updates… but all that will have to wait.

It’s not the clearest photo, I know. It looks like the kind of shots you get on the front of the Mirror showing clumsy-footed biddy fiddler Wayne Rooney exiting a Toxteth knocking shop. But the paparazzi-style snap above was taken earlier this evening in my kitchen. I know because that paparazzo was me. That blob in the centre right? It’s a mouse. Not a rat in me kitchen, thank god. I’ve christened him Chester, which I think is a rather good name for a mouse in Brixton.

Months ago I thought I spotted a mouse scurrying across the kitchen floor but I’d seen no signs since and had pretty much forgotten about it. True, there are the odd squeak noises that sound like they’re coming from the back of the fridge, but I thought that maybe they were, er, wonky pipes or something. Tonight, while making my tea, the squeaks seemed to be more prominent. For the first time I tried to find out where they were coming from. I shone my torch round the back of the fridge and under the cupboards. No sign of anything untoward though. Later, returning to the kitchen… what was that?! I was sure I heard something dashing across the worktop. It was time to get to the bottom of this. So, after putting on my trainers (like pulling up your duvet to prevent being attacked in bed, I always feel far more secure when wearing shoes. Maybe it’s from watching Die Hard too many times as a kid) I stood quietly in the kitchen doorway with the light off. Sure enough, there was soon some rustling and a shadow dashed across behind the taps. The light went on but by now the mouse (I’d not christened him by this point) was getting pretty cocky. It strolled back along the top, and climbed down the back of the fridge.

Now I decided that I wanted a picture. So in true cartoon style I stood on a chair like that woman out of Tom and Jerry. I waited with my camera poised and aimed at the area where I’d last seen Chester. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. After 30 minutes of squeaking but no sign of anything murine, I was getting pretty bored. I had been standing very still, on a chair, like David goddam Blaine. Hello…here he comes… And just to muck me about, on the opposite side of the kitchen, Chester peeped his nose out from behind the oven. As soon as the above photo was taken, he scarpered. I then got all Ray Mears and searched for clues. Here are my findings (with cockney rhyming info labels. Apart from ‘crumbs’. I think they really are crumbs):

So what happens next? Well, I email my landlady telling her we are infested and then bugger off to Australia/New Zealand for 3 weeks! Pip pip!