The Wrong Sett

Badgers much on my mind this morning.This happens when you put the radio on and wander in and out of the room it is in,providing an aural cut-up worthy of William Burroughs at his most oblique. So I now have a vague impression  that badgers are threatening the Euro and having trouble getting into Russell Group Universities. You would think they would just dig under the fence.
I saw a baby badger once;it was divine and looked like Alistair Darling only prettier.
Lord Arran, stating his objectives in life, said "To stop people buggering badgers, and badgering buggers". I consider this laudable.However, history is silent as to how far he succeeded.

Meanwhile, at Gambier Towers, we lurch roughly towards the end of term.  I have mixed feelings about this.On the one hand, there will be a blessed cessation of the morning ritual that begins with me cooing softly at the Giant Boy;"Come along darling, get out of bed and eat your chocolate-flavoured filth",and culminates in  me shrieking and Boy sulkily treading unwillingly to the bus stop.However, six weeks of tripping over languid giants hoves into view, as he and his enormous friends loll about in the living room, killing zombies and eating with the determined regularity of threshing machines.I can see why cougar mothers occasionally stock up the fridge and head off to the Gambia. Less explicable to me is why one would wish to collect a toyboy while there. Surely another youth, however pliant, would be a Busman's Holiday?