Squeak

No - it's not my bones. Temporarily out of action due to a football injury so there's not a peep coming from my cycle or cycling machine at present!

But we do have a new addition to the office team, which in the absence of any cycling advances may be amusing in a kind of 'passing interest' way.

A small mouse. And his mates.

We knew there were a few mice in the building - it's an old building, but as they hadn't appeared in our office we were tolerant and even quite endeared. My children named him Mickey, but then decided that as he wasn't balck and white he should be called Squeak. And 'he' was confined to the coridoor.

But when I came into the office yesterday Nicci was looking flustered and pointed to the bin. Squeak (or one of his friends - I'm not naive enough to believe that mice come in ones!) was gymnastically balanced going through whatever crumbs he might be able to find.

We hatched a plan - Operation Squeak Extraction was on. I grabbed rubber gloves. Nicci grabbed a cardboard box. The box sealed him in and I lifted him out to the car park - it was kinder than extermination. Only it wasn't. We're no match for the nible footed Squeak who managed, somehow, to escape.

Having followed the debates in 'Computing' about which colour wires mice prefer, we are now on red alert and can't allow Squeak to stay put. The site manager has called in pest control.

And I feel oh so cruel, arranging the extermnination of a tiny furry creature.

How does cycling 100 miles for charity sound as penance?