Today, I had a squirrel on my nuts. I picked up my catapult and fired a pebble at it.
And missed.
Only just.
Just enough to make the squirrel turn and look at me. Contemptuously.
And then it went on feeding, come se niente fosse, as L'Alighieri might have put it.
It's just not fair. I am as brutal as the next man. All right, I was in one of my frocks, but that's no reason to be patronised by a rodent.
Just wait till the bloody flying ants emerge: I will become a Dalek: I will exterminate them!
Just trying to hang on to some vestige of self-respect, you understand.
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