At last the weather was cold enough to warrant venturing out in my cream coloured 1950’s “Silbert of California” cashmere coat, made for the bracingly cold Californian winters. It was in perfect condition. I only wish I had lasted so well. I took it to a park named after a nineteenth century Italian Duke, the ducal mansion now turned into a hotel and the gardens open to hoi polloi like me. As I sat on a bench reading the Sunday papers, a squirrel came cautiously towards me. To my surprise he jumped up on to the wooden bench and began to climb up my bag. I say he, only an adult male would be so impertinent as to be all over me when we hadn’t even been properly introduced/
“Tear my coat and I will take away your nuts”, I warned.
He seemed to take the hint and leaped off in search of more congenial company.