I’ve taken to buying bags of roasted monkey nuts from Tesco’s, to take along with me on my daily walks. I will munch on a few if I’m peckish. But they are really for the squirrels in Bournemouth Gardens. I like feeding the little bushy tailed critters. In the lower gardens, they are quite tame and will race across lawns to greet you, put a paw on your finger and take the nut from your hand.
The lower garden squirrels are plump and have muddy noses. This end of the gardens has greatest footfall and the squirrels here are so well fed on nuts that they will likely run off with any snack you give them and bury it. Hence the muddy noses. The further away from the pier you get, the more lean and skittish the squirrels become. They won’t so easily take food from a strangers hand. But they’re getting used to me. I’m not a stranger anymore.
There is an old lady that stands at the same spot in the gardens everyday, feeding the squirrels. She is definitely considered a trusted human in squirrel circles. If JK Rowling or Beatrix Potter were passing, I’m sure they’d see a storyline in her. But it’s just me that passes. I see a storyline too, but not one that will sell a million books.
I’ll call her Old Lady Skerryvore if I decide she’s a good egg. If I decide she’s a bit of a witch, then Old Hag Skerryvore. She comes from a long line of dubious characters, including pirates and mad scientists, and carries her dead husbands heart around with her in her handbag. She speaks a strange language that no one understands. Except for the squirrels. They understand. She sends them on missions around the town.
Perhaps there is a book there, waiting to be written. It would be a boon for Bournemouth tourism. Kids love visiting places that feature in their favourite books. They can come walk through the gardens. Visit Skerryvore House. They can feed the squirrels. Obviously they’ll need to be careful if they see Old Lady Skerryvore. Did I mention she eats children?
The Mexile 
Nice but if you don’t watch out you just may wind up being her replacement.
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Your last tagline is just my cup of tea. I predict the best -seller list along with that villa in Tuscany.
Your tale is akin to the first two stories I wrote when I was a too-hardened four. Both involved grotesque deaths centered around anthropomorphic rabbits. Disturbed children around the world would have loved them — and will love yours.
But you need to be wary of those squirrels once they discover you have broken their KGB-provided codes. As you can tell by their muddy noses, they know how to bury nuts.
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Watership Down still leads the way in horror flicks for kids. But you could give it some long overdue competition. As a kid, taking caravanning holidays in Kent most summers, I can tell you that there’s nowt more horrific than the real thing. A field full of Myxomatosis riddled rabbits is enough to give most children nightmares.
Not me, mind you. I went hunting them with ferrets and shotguns. And supervising adults, of course. I brought a few back to the caravan. Grandad had them gutted. Granny cooked them. I don’t remember if I actually ate them.
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By the way, I entirely forgot to work in the Skerryvore, mad scientist, pirate and pocketed heart references. This is the trouble when a post is written in many section between other non writing tasks. RL Stevenson and Mary Shelley both spent time in Bournemouth.
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My squirrels are master tree planters, mostly walnuts but an oak here and there. I don’t mind the oak trees so much, sometimes they even get the location right . But the walnuts, they are just too toxic to the other plantings. A walnut can kill an apple tree at fifty paces. They are just not neighborly.
I planted a fence row in walnuts 25 years ago, about two thousand feet of nuts from six different trees. After the snow melted in spring, I had two thousand feet of empty holes. The squirrels had eaten most of the nuts or moved them. I had a few dozen trees come up, my neighbor had a few hundred come up in his field at about 50 feet inside the boundary line. They are getting on to lumber size these days.
My Grandma’s brother called them tree rats-he was a little crusty.
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I’m more a nut person than a fruit person. A walnut tree killing an apple tree is just making more room for more walnut trees. Win win. Perhaps I was a squirrel in a previous life.
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