View Halloo!

 The putting forward of the clocks to British bloody summertime caught the fox out. I came downstairs this morning at 6.30, which the fox still thought of as 5.30, and there she was, resting under the Californian laurel looking in at me through the glass doors. She had that hunted look on her mask that foxes wear when faced with humans.....

Sorry, Foxy. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I apologise on behalf of my ancestors. But I am not them. I have no wish to have my dogs tear you to pieces.....

In fact I have no dogs. 

I wonder if schoolkids till sing Do You Ken John Peel? I doubt it. 

As soon as I cracked open the door, she was off and away- and over the fence, brush in the air, down into next-door's garden.