Eddie the Edible Dormouse

Now, serendipity is all well and good, but do you really believe in it? I didn’t, but then it appeared, just like that, as WordPress prompt of the day. Edible. If you’re a food blogger, you might have occasional reason to use this word, but only if you think your recipes are, perhaps, a bit iffy. Iffy is another satisfying  word, the much-used English phrase, a bit iffy, meaning something not entirely wholesome or desirable. What about that one for prompt of the day? But, forgive me, I digress…

The Edible Dormouse, which sounds a viciously cruel title, came to visit us in France last week. His proper name is Glis glis, which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is much less exciting then his nickname.  But, look up Edible Dormouse on Wiki and you will find him there. The first time I heard of Eddie was when he was mentioned by a friend who has lived in France for about 20 years. ‘Edible Dormice?’ I said, disbelieving, ‘are you pulling my plonker?’ At this point I should perhaps apologise for using another English colloquialism. Although I’m sure you will get the general gist. Oops! More slang and digression…

This friend explained that GG had been farmed and eaten by the ancient romans, among other early europeans. To add insult to injury, they were mainly consumed as a snack, not even as the entree.  Poor little blighters, I thought, though I must tell you, having now met an Eddie, they are not so little. About the size of a decent hamster, and looking a bit like a small squirrel. Our meeting occurred when he dropped in, literally, I think from the beams in the kitchen, onto the fridge, where SOMEONE had left a couple of dog treats.  Not a bit frightened, and definitely not camera-shy. You can see him for yourself, below. Cute little chuffer, isn’t he? Apparently, they like to settle in and make themselves at home…





Changin’ times?

It would be awesome if times really were changin’. The unsurpassable Robert Zimmerman has been awarded the 2016 Nobel Prize – for literature. Not for services to world peace or to education, both of which would be perfectly justifiable. But for literature. As a forever Dylan fan I am well acquainted with the lyrics of many of his songs and, yes, I do own some of the albums, though not all. And indeed, world class they are. But can even Dylan’s mighty and sustained oeuvre change the world?

Even as I write these words, the forces of darkness continue to oppress the citizens of the world. In fact, only this week, the phrase ‘Citizen of the World’, has been put forward in a speech by Theresa May, the UK’s brand spanking new PM, as a negative label. If you are a citizen of the world, she blurted, in that hurried breathless voice she is currently adopting, then you are a citizen of nowhere. Go figure. The good news is that she has been challenged on this view by people everywhere, on social media, in newspaper editorials, on UK television political programmes, like Question Time, This Week and The Daily Politics. Tweeters are adding Citizen of the World to their profiles, proud to describe themselves as such. But if Mrs May and her Brexit ministers have their way, the UK will soon belong to a shrinking nation, divorced from friends and neighbours in Europe, even more detested by the Irish and Scots. To quote from another famous ‘6os hit song, Where Have all the Flowers Gone? written after the Great War, I ask our foolish, short-sighted politicians, When Will They Ever Learn?




Long time, no dark wood…

No excuses, okay? Been busy. Making midyear resolutions, now, to kick ass – mine.

First, what I’ve done to date and, second, what I’ve read. So, let’s go-oo…


  1. Coppers
  2. Silk Stockings
  3. Alpha Centauri
  4. Unrequited Love
  5. April is the cruellest month
  6. Ashley Madison
  7. Hamburg
  8. Godzilla & the Rats


  1. We are all completely beside ourselves
  2. Fingersmith

Out in the Wood

Welcome to the Darkness, Friend. Here in the  Wood things are happening. Take today, for instance: first thing I notice, trees are moving. No, not swaying the way you’d expect trees to do, but doing a sort of frenzied foxtrot, know what I mean? Cool! Then the TV tells me to expect wind. I hate that. Who wants to hear that stuff? If I want to know I can expect wind, I’ll order some on the WoodWideWeb. You get me?

You guessed it; I prefer the unexpected, there’s too much same-old in the Wood these days. Shoots come up in Spring, leaves turn brown in the Fall, snow falls in Winter. That’s just so uncool. And now I’m going to be waiting for wind instead of doing something useful like clearing out my Toolshed. Not many Woodies even have a Toolshed. But I have. Mine has secret compartments; I’m not kidding. Last year I dug out the floor and installed them. Want to know what’s in there? Really? Well, I might tell you, but not right now – forgive me, but I hardly know you. I don’t even know your name; mine’s Hunter, didn’t I say? I’m still getting my Toolshed together, hidden compartments, secret stuff – everyone needs secret places, they’re just so cool. And I’m building… Hey! that was close, nearly let slip, didn’t I?

On my way today, I meet up with a couple of fellow Woodies. We stop and shake before passing on the latest news. Want to hear it? Okay, but keep it to yourself, right? There’s a rumour afoot that Weasels from the Long Hill are sneaking into the Dale. That will never work; the Dale belongs to the Rabbits, always has, always will. Weasels don’t always take notice of stuff like that, though. They’re kinda like a law onto themselves. Wouldn’t be surprised if they were to start with some of their sly Weasel tricks, trying to scare the Rabbits off from their burrows. Rabbits are okay, but they sure act dumb. They just hop and skip and dig holes and stuff their little rabbit mouths with green things, when they should be looking out for bad guys. Like Weasels, right? Trouble’s coming, that’s for sure. But I’ll be ready, when it comes. Time for me to go into my Toolshed and root out my Cover Cloak.

Well, I warned you all, that’s for sure, but did you listen? If there’s one thing I can do, it’s smell trouble. The Weasels have been up to no good and invaded the Dale. They snuck in two nights ago and blocked up the main entrances to the rabbit burrows: then, when all the dumb rabbits were panicking and running and jumping in all directions like excited grasshoppers, the Weasels just moved on in and took over their burrows. Now the dumb rabbits are too scared to go back to their homes. They’re just sitting there, out in the open, on the slopes of Long Hill, with their kittens squeaking and shivering around them. Don’t they know the foxes will be along soon? What’s to be done? I sure hate to see the little rabbit babies made homeless. For two cents, I might just go down there myself and send those Weasels packing, yessir, I just might do that.
To be continued…