I'm sitting on the train to work, feeling glum knowing that I won't see the lovely weather as I'll be underground and the mobile rings. It's the missus."Hello?"
"Oh my god! Oh my god, James!"
"What's wrong?"
"Oh my god! Oh my god!......."
I'm thinking she's gone in to labour and I just about hold on to my bowels.
"........there's a hedgehog in the garage!"
Pause.
"What?"
"There's a hedgehog in the garage!"
"A hedgehog?"
"Yeah, a massive one."
"Well show it to my toolbox and get it to finish the bathroom."
"What should I do?"
"Just leave it until I get home."
"What if it shoots spikes at me?!"
"It's a fucking hedgehog love, not a sniper."
Later I get the photo of the hedgehog sleeping under the bbq, the fucker's making himself at home!
When I get home I find him just outside the garage door, the picture didn't come out so well. I made the mistake of coming in the house to get a torch and he'd gone again. Back under the garage door and behind all the stuff that's being stored there for countless relatives. I'll have to wait until he settles for a kip tomorrow. Depending on how frisky the little raasclart is, he'll either get wrapped in an old towel and taken to the woods or he'll have his head staved in with a rusty shovel.
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