Who can help a poor mole?

Oi am sorry to say that the inaugural meeting of the OUSS was not quite the great success Oi was anticipating. For a start the number of students who turned up was very disappointing. Oi blame the modern educational system for not encouraging them to take a proper interest in insectivore culture. It also possible that the plates of “dips” (tastily involving worms and other invertebrates) were a factor - Oi was very surprised at the negative reaction of many of the students, especially the female ones. Nobody at all paid the subscription, with the result that the Shrews are still eating a poor Mole out of house and home – and how much longer will the Boy fail to notice the vast number of rodents occupying his wardrobe?

Worst of all, the lack of income from the event has put me in a difficult position with the University with regard to certain fees due for the venue. Perhaps Oi was a little ambitious hiring the Sheldonian Theatre - but Oi needed something that would fit in with moi robes o' state. Now they have slapped a writ on me - who on earth can Oi turn to to help me out of this fix?

The dawn of the OUSS!

Oi've had a brainwave! During moi toime down here in Oxford, Oi have observed that these students are slaves to fashion, always willing to follow the latest trend. Why just the other day, the boy went out with all his friends, and they was dressed oidentical, all in dark suits with white bow ties and strange gowny things.

Also, Oi have noticed that they are very addicted to joining clubs and societies - there's hardly an activity or interest that doesn't have a group dedicated to it. So, what Oi have decided to do is to combine the two - create a society, where the main entrance requirement is the possession of an item of small size, but great attraction, such as will create a new craze.

In short, Oi have founded the Oxford University Shrew Society! The first meeting is already scheduled, and Oi have selected some suitable robes of office, befitting the president and founder. Oi think you'll find them suitably tasteful and understated. My owner worry is whether "Dean of Shrews" or "Archchancellor of Rodentry" is the better title for moi office.

Once the Society becomes a success, as it surely will, everyone in Oxford will want to hire their own shrew and Oi shall become a millionaire. At least.

I'm just too successful!

As ever, it seems that Oi is a victim of moi own genius! Moi plan to lure the shrews here to Oxford worked like a dream - in fact it worked too well. By Wednesday morning this week, there were upwards of two hundred shrews in my room. Now the boy's scout is very understanding, but even she moight be a bit spooked by that number of our squeaky brethren. Therefore, Oi had to think of a new plan, to disperse them slightly. Oi decided to dispatch all but a small core team of support shrews (so as some of them gets use to doing moi bidding). What better place, Oi thought than Keble College, as Oi understands it is pretty well full of rodents anyway.

Moi mistake! It turns out that shrews are very sensitive to ugly architecture and they were all back within the hour! Well Oi suppose Einstein and that Da Vinci bloke had their crosses to bear, so I will face up to the burden of moi genius with moi normal indomitable spirit.

Oi'll tell the boy to sort it out.

Plan B

Well Oi'm absolutely outraged! Oi received an email this morning on moi Googlemole account from they shrews. They've only gone off to somewhere called Cambrodge, to study Political Science! Oi believes that Cambridge is in nasty swampy country, quite unsuited to civilised burrowin' animals. Oi know shrews aren't as particular in their tastes as Moles, but surely there's a limit?

Anyway, they are no use to me over in Cambridge, so Oi have devised a cunning plan. Oi am sending them an email back telling them about Oxford. Oi may have been slightly economical with the truth here and there. For instance, Oi'm not absolutely sure that all shrews get a personal servant who brings them worms and orange juice while they lie on a sun bed all day long, but Oi expect something like that moight be true. Probably.

The main thing is that they realise that they'd be better off here, and they can certainly fit in a bit of time serving moi every need once they're here...

(PS from Bobby. Steg wants me to say that he "helped" me type this post into the blog ndn. Maybe "help" means something different in Dinosaur. Never mind he's a very enthusiastic fellow anyway)

Disaster Strikes

Them pesky squirrels! 'Ow was oi supposed to know that Oxford squirrels are highly eddycated, especially in contract law. Apparently, oi made “a number of elementary mistakes when drafting my contract”. 'Ow do these furry-tailed bloighters get to learn such long words, that’s what oi’d loike to know! Anyway, one of them “slipped” on the peanut butter on the way in through the window, and it appears that oi am now legally bound to provide them with a bushel of conkers per day, or be sued for damages!

What’s a bloomin’ bushel anyway? Oi shall assume it means ten for now. It’s hard work collecting these conkers – do these squirrels think they grow on trees? I am clearly going to have to get even more cunning if oi am to outsmart the locals. Who’d have thought that Oxford would be full of intelligent animals?

‘Ello again!

I am putting moi plan into action. Knowing that, unlike Moles, squirrels are none too bright, and are easily led by their stomachs, I decided to entice them in using nuts as bait. Unfortunately, The Boy appears to have neglected to bring any hazelnuts with him! He brought all sorts on unnecessary stuff loike books, but fell far short of moi expectations on materials for plottin’. No matter, oi am a resourceful Mole, and I soon realized that his newly opened jar of peanut butter would serve the purpose admirably. To reduce the possibility of the squirrels missing the scent, oi opened the windows, then smeared peanut butter on the curtains, and finally left a trail of dollops across the floor towards moi patent squirrel trap.
The trap consists of a loop of string on the floor in front of a piece of paper on which oi have written a large number of complex terms and conditions regarding the use of peanut butter in college grounds (these are completely imaginary, of course, but everything else here seems to have bizarre and ancient rituals and rules, so these won’t stand out at all). As you probably know, squirrels are easily confused by legal matters, so while they are studying them, oi should have plenty of time to yoink the string tight and bag moiself a loyal servant. Failing that, they might soign the document, including the cunningly concealed “obey the Mole” clause. Either way, I’m the winner – what could possibly go wrong?

Dear Molefans everywhere!

Oi have arroived here in Oxford, accompanied by moi Boy. It is moi intention to keep 'ee all informed of moi progress by the use of this ’ere internetty thing. No doubt it will be a story of unbroken success and will be an inspiration to all of you less fortunate mammals.

We arrived last week and moi room (which oi have graciously allowed The Boy to share) is pleasant enough, but has one major drawback. It isn’t on the ground floor! How is a mole supposed to undertake his duties as Dean of Tunnelin’ when the first step in a burrow would drop him ten foot to the floor below?? The Boy seems preoccupied with other matters at the moment, but oi shall pick the roight moment to raise this with him. Oi needs to get started as, on the way in through the college, oi spotted a gurt big lawn, that’s just crying out for an industrious chap such as moiself to decorate it with a few strategically placed molehills.

Moi other main concern at present is the lack of a suitable entourage of obedient shrews. Oi don’t know where they’ve got to, but they have been particularly stroppy of late, so maybe it’s for the best that oi find some new creature to do moi bidding. Oi have spotted a number of squirrels out of the window when the boy’s been out, and I am forming a plan to recruit a squirrel battalion. Watch this space!