Friday, 24 May 2013


The national press may have gone quiet on the Badgerocalypse front but they have missed out on today's important development - we now have an artists impression of the attack of the 50ft badgerzilla from hell which may or may not also be a zombie:

Thanks to our artist-on-the-scene Little Black Heart for this hard-hitting reportage. We can only imagine the atrocities she must have witnessed in the pursuit of the truth.

You can see more of Little Black Heart's awesome work here and follow her on Facebook here

Don't have nightmares, now.

Thursday, 23 May 2013


I'm not going to beat around the bush. Yesterday, the best headline in the history of the printed word burst forth onto the world. I give you:

BADGERGATE!!! (click for original - hilarious - article)
Now, already this is the most brilliant thing I've read in ages. But what makes it even more fantastic is that this is happening AT MY OLD SCHOOL.

Fame at last! I'm a bit jealous, if I'm honest; in my time there we had absolutely no giant wildlife scares. This is literally the most exciting thing to happen at that school since the whole Sixth Form got suspended in leavers week 1997 for drawing massive cocks on the school field with bleach.

Terrified schoolgirls are apparently being held hostage by this Godzilla of the badger world:

"On one occasion it was spotted underneath one of the mobile classrooms and the pupils were told to close the window and not to leave until it was safe."

 If they are the same mobiles that were there when I was, their flimsy walls will provide little protection against an attack-badger, especially this one who, we must presume, shares the size and bloodlust of a rabid grizzly bear on acid.
Angry badger. He will CUT you, yo.

This morning, it's gone viral. Even the Daily Mail is covering the story. I haven't actually read their take, for fear of catching Nazi, but I assume they are going with the angle that this is an immigrant gay badger intent on stealing our jobs and giving us all cancer. Who also killed Princess Di.

Sadly, I have it on good authority that this is not actually a hitherto undiscovered Giant Badger species, nor a mutant badger that has grown to the size of a small car after ingesting radioactive fish washed down the coast from Dungeness B power station. My sister is a pupil at the school (yes, I do feel old), and she reported first hand, with the practiced pragmatism of the 16 year old proto-goth:

We'd never need a DNA test to prove we were related...

 So it seems that it is, in fact, just a normal sized badger, but the average teenaged girl thinks that badgers should be the size of hamsters. I sympathise with the confusion, really, as for years I was convinced that puffins were at least as big as emperor penguins. I'm still slightly disappointed at how small they actually are.

This is clearly an ENORMOUS GIANT MAN. (photo from
The final line of the original article gives me hope, however, that Badgergate may yet take a dramatic turn. Check out how curt the school have been with their official statement.

"A spokesman for the Folkestone School for Girls said there was no problem with badgers at the school and that they had no comment to make."

Methinks they protest too much. It's a badger CONSPIRACY, people!


I don't have any badgers in my shop. But I do have foxes. See what I did there, woodland animal fans?

Click the picture to visit and buy my stuff. No angry badgers.

Thursday, 16 May 2013

The further adventures of Flat Stanley and his tragic almost-demise.

Those who have been following this blog for a while, or who have maybe just been putting very odd search terms into Google, may be familiar with Flat Stanley, the result of my first (and so far only), foray into the art of taxidermy. Stanley was an ex-guinea pig, who had been humanely sourced and who I raised from the choir invisible under the expert tuition of Amanda from

Flat Stanley, as his name suggests, did not turn out to be the most handsome of specimens, but a little Phantom of the Opera costume both hid his disfigurements and gave him a jaunty air. (Original blog post here....)

Since then, Flat Stanley has been happily housed in a glass case (um, ok, it's actually a giant sweetie jar. But we took the labels off and washed out all traces of sherbert lemons), on the mantelpiece. His fame has been such he and his jar have even been on stage:

He was such a diva.
Then, last night, something TERRIBLE happened.

We came home to a scene of devastation. Flat Stanley's sweetie jar, with Flat Stanley helpless within it, had fallen off the mantelpiece. Glass was everywhere. As for Stanley...well. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. Doug the cat (for we know it must have been him, his sister is far too thick to work out how to extricate a stuffed rodent from a jar), had no intentions of letting Stanley rest in peace. This conversation occured:

LL: What is that? Is that, like, a dead bird or somethingOHMYGODITSFLATSTANLEY!!!
SO: Don't look. Oh God. Don't look.
LL: He...he....he has no hands!
SO: Nope. Or feet.
LL: And his FACE! Doug has eaten HIS FACE!!! What is WRONG with that cat? He's a psychopath!
SO: At least Doug didn't hurt himself on the glass or anything while he was carrying out his abominations.
LL: Yeah. I wouldn't have wanted to explain that to the vet.

SO thought that the cats had knocked the jar off the mantelpiece. I maintained that Stanley had been up there since last September and they'd never knocked it down before. BUT I don't think it is any coincidence that this happened very shortly after the arrival of Super Rat (who I think might have evil kinetic powers. SO says I have been watching too many films). Our mantelpiece became a lineup of suspects:

The skull is plaster of paris. I promise.

Whether he fell or was pushed, Flat Stanley had gone from being a slightly odd but kind of adorable ornament to a TERRIFYING FACELESS ZOMBIE RODENT that I couldn't have in the house any longer. I wanted to throw it out, but SO was all "no, I can save him and make him less like the stuff of nightmares". I was off out for the evening, so I gave SO an ultimatum - by the time I got back, the Thing that used to be Flat Stanley either had to be buried at a crossroads or somehow made into something that I could bear having under my roof and that wouldn't rise in the night and kill us all.

While I was out, this text conversation occured:

SO: Flat Stanley looks like a burns victim. in his bandages.
LL: Are you trying to make him into a mummy?
SO: i might have to age his wrappings with tea bags.
LL: I'm not sure if you are a genius. I think you might be. i also think Flat Stanley might be haunted.

So. Long story short. When I got back, this had happened...


 If you read this, Significant Otter, thank you. Thank you for fixing my faceless, limbless, possibly haunted dead guinea pig. It's these little things that make a marriage.


Epilogue: I almost wasn't going to share this last bit, for the sake of everyone. But a problem shared is a problem spread around, so I don't see why I should be the only one holding this hideous information in my head. Shortly after this picture was taken, this occurred:

LL: Where did you get all the cotton wool to reconstruct his feets? We don't have any cotton wool.
SO: Um. I owe you two tampons.


You're all welcome.