Squirrels after beer? (Courtesy amcgltd.com)
Written by Susan Morrison for living.scotsman.com
In September, the husband decided we should make our own beer for Christmas. I blame reruns of the Good Life. A pressure barrel was purchased, a kit procured and instructions were read. I’ll give him that. He reads instructions. I prefer instinct. My instinct usually being to avoid the situation in the first place.
The barrel sat in the dark like a frog with indigestion, burping and rumbling. This was fine until the frog developed incontinence. Suddenly the kitchen started to smell, well, actually like Edinburgh very early in the morning, with that beery scent in the air.
The barrel was leaking. Action was taken and the barrel was moved into the garden to drip. A small puddle formed.
And then the squirrels appeared.
Now, before you start calling the SSPCA, these fiendishly clever little monsters have defeated practically every stratagem we put in their way, short of a warning photo of Nicola Sturgeon with “Please Drink Responsibly” written under it. Anyway, it’s time the squirrels took some responsibility for their choices, in my opinion.
They’ve been whizzing about in their squirrel shebeen for the last few evenings, tearing about the garden having wall of death races around the fences. They’ve been hanging upside down off the gate like Wee Shuggie the Cook on the wire in The Great Escape, just before he wound up in Crossroads. Mad little grey faces suddenly appear at the window waving little fat arms about and shrieking like Glaswegian X Factor contestants.
These being Leith squirrels, they can take their drink. They’ve got the kerry-oot swagger. Well, let’s be honest, they’ve got the wee short legs, and the too-bright eyes with the Great Junction Street Stare. However, I suspect Botanics squirrels have been coming down and slumming it. You can tell the posh kids, staggering about, screaming their heads off and flipping their tails all over the place, just ruining it for everyone.
So, should you see squirrels down on their luck, spurning proffered peanuts to panhandle for pennies for home brew, I’m sorry, but the problem started here with an innocent decision to make beer for Christmas.