Nuts!

During my marvellous meanderings I’ve met many men. They literally do come in all shapes and sizes, and as we have seen they all have different tastes.

I very nearly accepted a proposition from a hypnotherapist, but the thought of gaining consciousness to find myself in his bedroom, doing a chicken impression with crutchless knickers on my head kind of put me off.

I once dated a squirrel enthusiast; he loved squirrels and told me a fascinating story about how he discovered that they enjoy ginger nut biscuits. The story is irrelevant; more importantly is that 3 times a week this guy would saunter off to the nearest green belt area with a packet of Foxes finest and feed the local squirrel population come rain or shine. Now that is dedication.

You may think this unusual, but I was soon to be made aware that there are many such people. They have their own conventions and facebook page.

I thought it could be worse; he could have been a misogynist, a drug addict or even a Daily Mail reader, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

We went for walks in the country, shared our picnics with his bushy tailed friends and took photos in sepia, really it was idyllic.

Until that is I realised that his obsession with squirrels had a much darker side......

This affinity he shared with the Sciurus vulgaris (he preferred the red ones) was due, he insisted, to his being in touch with his inner squirrel.

One night I awoke to a scrabbling scratchy noise under the bed, as you can imagine I was more than a little alarmed to find he had crept underneath and had filled 5 shoe boxes full of acorns! He just looked at me as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be doing, shrugged and said “for the winter.”

This was by no means the end of his strange behaviour. From time to time he would just go crazy, leaping into the air (sometimes quite high) and twisting around. He would then start running back and forth across a small space, doing somersaults and twisting on the ground. Sometimes he’d pick up a twig and start jumping around with it which was a cause for embarrassment at family barbeques and social gatherings.

In the end I could tolerate it no longer, I told him in no uncertain terms that unless he started behaving in a way befitting his own species it was over. He didn’t take it very well and it took me hours to coax him down from a nearby Horse Chestnut tree. 

I had just about reached my wits end when I found out that the Isle of Wight is a haven for squirrels of the red variety and so following a long and arduous conversation I managed to convince him it was the best thing for us both, bought him a one way ticket on the ferry and waved a heartfelt goodbye.

I like to think he’s happy now and at peace.