Toast to the Squirrel

They may be invasive nasty bullying scavenging rodentry vermin, but you've got to admit they're cute. Not, I'll grant you, as cute as a red, but cute nonetheless. Though perhaps less so if you realise that bit of toast was fetched from a nearby bin. Licked, and then nommed. I'd seen him rummage about from a distance, before retiring to the wall with his prize, utterly unconcerned with attracting an audience, and even less so with me stoof 1.5m away (being the closest functioning focus distance for this particular lens) snapping him partaking of lunch.

So the fat squirrel edges out the brilliant beardy-cyclist for the blip (apparently FortyTwo missed him by seconds).

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure that on neither of my Twitter accounts have I threatened to blow anything up, or called anyone a muppet, or generally said anything in a jokey manner which appears to get you into the courts as a terrorist these days. Stephen Fry, top bloke that he is, has offered to pay any fine the Twitter Terrorist is likely to face (though he could also face a custodial sentence!). Madness.

Satirical attempts at ranting are not required, the story is bizarre enough on its own.