Published at 09:41, Friday, 29 January 2010

CHOCOLATE can be a real killer – just ask the mouse which took refuge in the Courant office from the icy blast of winter.

The little creature must have thought it had arrived in Sandals Hexham when it somehow squeezed into the office the other week.

It was possibly a descendant of the millions of mice who used to live it up in the Granary flats next door, when it was Temperley’s seed, corn and animal feed merchants.

It certainly made itself at home for the few days it was here, nibbling at assorted Courant back numbers, tucking into crumbs from multiple packed lunches and generally living the life of Riley.

Sadly, our little visitor became a little too complacent, and instead of operating solely on night shift, decided to announce its presence during the day by popping out of a drawer.

The screams were probably heard in Prudhoe, and certain members of the Courant advertising staff made impressive bids for inclusion in the Great Britain squad in 2012 as they sprinted to get out of its way as it scuttled the width of the room, and dived for cover under a reporter’s desk.

When there are things to be created, I am the fat and wheezy boy who is last to be picked for any activity.

However, when there are things to be destroyed, it’s time to call in the Heavy Mob.

A deputation of dithering ladies presented themselves piteously at my desk, with a death warrant for me to sign.

My 007 licence to kill was bang up to date, so like a more portly version of Frank Cannon, I waddled across to where the fugitive had last been seen.

There was an accumulation of filing cabinets, bags, papers and the like, which I moved as stealthily as Howard Carter fossicking his way through the Valley of the Kings.

The watching women huddled a little closer, and then there was a communal demonstration of stress incontinence as a little grey blur sent them scattering in delicious terror.

The wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous, beastie was clearly a deal more startled than the Courant staff, for despite moving every atom of matter in a five square yard radius, he had simply vanished into fresh air.

In my best Arnie voice, I opined “He’ll be back” to another chorus of feminine woe and testing of the Tena Ladies.

I then took on my third American alter ego of the day, and became Mountain Man Big Jim Hornswoggle, laying aside my beaver traps and coonskin cap to come down from the high Rockies for something a little more sophisticated.

I became the proud owner of two Little Nipper mousetraps.

None of this nonsense about humane traps which capture the little beasts alive, so they can be set free outside, and then beat their liberator back into the building.

The Little Nipper comprises just a couple of bits of wood, a couple of twists of metal – and a spring powerful enough to launch a Harrier Jet from the deck of HMS Illustrious.

I was demonstrating just how powerful when one of the traps went off unexpectedly, severing half an inch off the end of my pen.

I was taught to set a mousetrap by an old molecatcher, who honed my skills so acutely that I can set one so precisely that a fly settling on the bait has been known to set them off.

He also pooh-poohed the notion than cheese is the food of choice for the refined rodent.

“Cheese is nee good at aal, ” he confided.

“Mice would rather hev some bacon, or mebbees a bit of chocolate.”

It so happened that a colleague was throwing out a mouldy loaf, and a jar of Nutella, so I whipped up an irresistible chocolate spread sandwich for each trap.

However, as I moved in to put the traps in place, there were still more squeals from the ladies.

“Wait till we’ve gone,” they pleaded.

I was attending a meeting in Hexham, so I laid the hair-triggered traps under a desk at 6pm.

When I returned at 9pm, one of the traps had been triggered, with the chocky bread gone.

In the other, his chubby cheeks bulging with bread, and with a startled expression on his fubsy face, was the furry fugitive.

I felt a momentary pang of regret at a young life being cut short just for doing what comes naturally – and then dumped the corpse in the bin.

Published by http://www.hexhamcourant.co.uk