Ramblings Around Derbyshire

A collection of shamblings culled from the local press written by Bob Ellis.

Nuts!

Into the woods! For some this means a pleasant day out courtesy of the Forestry Commission. For others it could be an evening in the West End, doing battle with a Stephen Sondheim musical. Your only fear there is the threat of ending up trapped in a lift with Ned Sherrin. Much missed, but not enough to share a lift.

It could mean gay abandon - a phrase rather shifted in emphasis these days - with the Scouts. Boy and woggle in perfect harmony. Frankly, I fear the worst. My fear is not only all around me but also above. Squirrels!

Just how highly developed are the communication skills of the average squirrel?
Do they fax pictures of nuts to each other?
Do they loaf around in bars?
Will the Duck and Fruit bat be holding a Sqirrioke Night?
Do they talk about us over lunch?
Do they touch base and hang out?
Do they go to lodge meetings?
Do the children rush home to log into SQUIZNET on the home computer, safe and warm in their little blue anoraks?
And if they do, is my name on it? The computer that is, not the anorak...

I ask these questions not just for me but also for a whole generation of people who grew up in the early Sixties. Be warned. They have something over us. We could all be under a fatwa from The Tufty Club....

It was 1961 when I signed on the dotted line and probably missed, being but six years old. That's it. A plea of mitigation, only six years old, your Honour. The boy could not have known what he was letting himself in for. Send him home with a flea in his ear and caution the parents.

The Tufty Club gave a boy a sense of place; it fulfilled the need to belong. We looked left, right and left again, or was it the other way around, yet we still got our cheery greeting from the man in the Austin Cambridge. It was more than a club, it was a lifestyle. When Tufty shinned up to that great pine tree in the sky, we heard nothing to say our membership had lapsed. Will the old Full Street nick have an amnesty on Tufty Club badges?

We need to know so we may clear our consciences. You see, Tufty is back!
He is now leaner, meaner and even more dangerous to know. A PR person on the wireless says he is ready for the street-wise generation. He is hard and hip, he is bad assed, which is what comes from sitting on a damp branch all day.

He is a style guru. Frankly, I fear the worst. Did the freedoms of the sixties leave bank clerks so high on pot it never crossed their Dylan-sodden minds to invent Direct Debit?

If they were at one with their karma long enough to sort out a BACS code, you and I, along with the rest of The Lost Generation need to check our bank statements. We could owe The Tufty Club thirty-two years worth of back subs. I see it in my minds eye.

The place is ringed with members of the SAS, the Squirrels Armed Service. The leader raises a loudhailer to his lips, "Leave your nuts where they are and come out slowly!"

As the summer solstice approaches and as winner of the Spot-the- Druid Competition, it will fall upon me to make the sacrifice. We are a bit strapped for virgins around here so I'll settle for a street-wise squirrel.