Wargh. As predicted, the last fortnight has been a bit of a session. In the past, I've gone blow-by-blow through each of the exams as they happened, blogging the minutiae of each question. Since of the twenty people to whom that could possibly be of interest, I don't think a single person reads this, I've decided to spare the other two of you.
No, the reason I write is that we've recently had a third flatmate take up residence in our bijou Edinburgh apartment. Don't tell our letting agents, though, or they'll use it as an excuse to bump the price up by £300…. I'm afraid I'll have to turn in my air of smug sanitary superiority, because there is a mouse loose about this house.
It comes as a relief that our friend vindicates the media's imagery of Mickey, Jerry and—um—The Brain: he's quite a cute little blighter. In fact, as he ran from the kitchen into his surprisingly obvious semi-circular mousehole, I'm sure he gave an infectious laugh and a twinkle in his eye.
I'm almost willing to overlook the fact that he's shitting all over the carpet, and the probable consequences for application of the five-second rule.
So, for that reason, I invite your suggestions for how we deal with him. In the comments. The more ludicrous the better.
Cheers,
Derek.
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