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The collected opinions of an august and aristocratic personage who, despite her body having succumbed to the ravages of time, yet retains the keen intellect, mordant wit and utter want of tact for which she was so universally lauded in her younger days. Being of a generation unequal to the mysterious demands of the computing device, Lady Bracknell relies on the good offices of her Editor for assistance with the technological aspects of her journal.

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Location: Bracknell Towers

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Tails of the Unexpected

Yesterday morning early, as Lady Bracknell was drifting at a leisurely pace towards her omnibus stop - the weather being much too warm for her to be striding purposefully, as is her wont - she espied a small tuft of fur on a minor road she happened to be crossing.

Closer inspection, with the assistance of her ladyship's handsome walking stick, revealed that this was not merely a chunk of fur randomly moulted by one of the many dogs which are walked by their owners in the area. It was the tip of a grey squirrel's tail.

The almost inescapable conclusion to which any rational person would be drawn upon observing this fragment of a squirrel is that the erstwhile possessor of this tail tip must have met an untimely end at the paws of either a local cat or a foxy gentleman with sandy whiskers.

But Lady Bracknell, who has a great fondness for squirrels (yes, even the grey ones), and who shrinks from enivisaging nature red in tooth and claw, has a theory.

The squirrel in question may well have been a member of that rare phenomenon, the squirrel/lizard cross. Whilst retaining all the outward appearances of its squirrel ancestors, the squizard's reptilian antecedents are present in its ability to shed its tail in moments of extreme peril.

Thus, the tail tip on the tarmacadam was evidence not of a bloody slaughter, but of the triumph of the squizardy prey in fooling whatever had attempted to catch and eat it. The victorious squizard will even now be perched in the lower branches of one of the many fine trees which surround Sefton Park, waiting only for its tail to grow back before it once again leaps from branch to branch with gay abandon.

(Lady Bracknell instructed her editor to include a photograph of a squizard in this blog entry, but is advised that such an item cannot be found on the interwebnet. Not even for ready money. Odd.)

In other lizard-related news, Lady Bracknell took lunch yesterday with a charming Welsh gentleman whom she had not seen for many years. She was greatly amused to hear that this gentleman's son has a pet lizard called Eddie.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I, too, have encountered such a remnant, on my very own front doorstep. I am heartened to hear of Lady Bracknell's theory, which goes some way to easing my mind about the fate of the animal in question.

12:54 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

A lizard called Eddie! I get it! Go me!

5:53 pm  
Blogger Lady Bracknell said...

If Timmargh only knew how close Lady Bracknell had come to dedicating this entire post to him...

8:19 pm  
Blogger R said...

I haven't got anything cute or clever to add, mostly because I'm currently full of an opioid-induced woozy haze, but I just wanted to leave you a message to say hello, cos it's cheaper than texting. Hope you is OK.

9:43 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If Lady Bracknell only knew how much Timmargh is blushing right now ...

1:23 am  

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