The Rock and Roll Field Mice

In the late 80s heyday of indiepop, there existed a musical sub-genre known as the Twee persuasion, consisting of quartets of especially foppish, floppy-haired college boys who specialised in wielding jingly-jangly guitars while singing lovelorn two-and-a-half-minute instant classics with names like 'I'm In Love With a Girl Who Doesn't Know I Exist'.  The song of this name was performed by a group going under the quite deliciously twee name of Another Sunny Day.   Contemporaries included Heavenly, the Fat Tulips, and, perhaps the best known of the twee bands, The Field Mice.

I can only assume that the Field Mice must never have lived in my street, because the eponymous fluffy animals who inhabit the grassy area behind our house are about as  twee as Ozzy Osbourne on a three-day bender.  These are rock and roll field mice, who appear to belong to a particularly intrepid, hell-raising strain of urban rodent. Every couple of years these frightening animals invade our living space and attempt to outrage our delicate indiepop sensibilities with displays of outlandish behaviour. 

On Wednesday I came home to find that The Field Mice had arrived for their bi-annual visit, and were clearly in the mood to party.  One rodent was scuttling away behind the skirting boards, while another lounged aggressively on the couch swigging from an open bottle of Jack Daniels.  A third animal was rifling through my record collection and cackling contemptuously at Sea Urchins seven inches while playing early Jesus and Mary Chain tracks at top volume.  Profanities littered the air and a general air of licentiousness prevailed.  Above it all, Charlotte stood on the kitchen table, whimpering and quaking visibly.  She has never been much good with rodents of any description.

Looking at the ugly scene, I decided it was time to take action, and first of all considered...

Option one- ignoring the mice and hoping they go away.

When we first moved into our house, a field mouse emerged from a cupboard, ran across the room, and turned the TV over to Channel 4.  We decided it might be a one-off incident, and anyway they were showing a re-run of Father Ted we hadn't seen before.  The next night the mouse turned up with seven of his mates, a couple of videos, and a party-sized pack of Doritos.   We shut the cupboard door firmly, and hoped they would take the hint.  On the third night, thirteen coachloads of mice arrived brandishing flyers for a fully-fledged all-night rave that was being held, apparently, in the space under the stairs, behind the hoover.  We didn't get a wink of sleep until the Police turned up at dawn.

What I am saying here is, when it comes to field mice, particularly those of the rock-and-roll variety prevalent in Levenshulme, the laissez-faire approach has its drawbacks.  What you are needing, really, is a crackdown.  So you are best turning to...   

Option two: Purchasing the perfect mousetrap

At B and Q there are shelves and shelves of devices designed to ensnare, maim, poison, and otherwise inconvenience unwelcome furry visitors of every kidney.  Animal lovers can pick up a bait-laiden, Heath-Robinsonesque contraption known as the humane mousetrap, which is certainly very humane, in that any mouse worth its tail will simply walk into it, help itself to the goodies on offer, and walk out again whistling nonchalantly, quite failing to set off, or indeed notice, any of the patent trips, hinges and trapdoors designed to trap it unharmed inside.  Those of a less queasy disposition can resort to the traditional mousetraps found in Tom and Jerry cartoons, or their modern equivalent- a plastic tube through which the mouse will run, thinking' 'oh what a lovely tube' , before dying a hideous death at the hands of the various poisons coated on the contraption's inside.   Hopefully this demise will occur back at the mouse's lair under the skirting board, and not on the living room carpet during Coronation Street, as this can be off-putting.  So off-putting, in fact, that you may wish to go straight to... 

Option three: Borrowing a neighbour's cat

The domestic cat is a well-honed, sharp-toothed killing machine capable of tearing an unsuspecting field mouse into seventeen pieces in the blink of an eye.  Unfortunately however, the feline psychological balance is notoriously delicate, and any failure on your part to admire a tastefully-presented rodent carcass will be experienced as the most crushing rejection and is liable to traumatise the poor moggy for life.   And then your neighbours won't talk to you anymore, so maybe you are best leaving them alone and moving on to.....

Option four.  Getting the Council in

There is a number in your phone book marked 'Pest Control'.   Call it, and the civil authorites will send round a man in a giant cat costume, who will run around the house brandishing a cricket bat and shouting 'Get out of it, you mouse bastards!' at the top of his voice.  He may smash some of your valuables with the cricket bat in the process, but this is all part of the show and is designed to put the frighteners on your men the mice and have them on their toes sharpish.   The cost of this service (replacement of smashed crockery not included) is just fifteen quid for three visits, which, I'm sure you will agree, is cheap at half the price.

So, several options available, and we should have Charlotte down off the kitchen table in time for Christmas.  After due consideration, we have gone for options two and four, with the possibility of three in abeyance, if we can sort out some fine contractual details with Molly, the cat at number fourteen.  For now, the 'humane' mousetrap is hidden behind a chair in the living room, and the man in the giant cat costume is due this afternoon with his bat.  I trust he will prevail.  If not I have one final trick up my sleeves.  I am going to get out my Sarah records collection and play early Sea Urchins singles at top volume, until the rock and roll field mice get off the couch and run out of the house screaming for mercy.   I will teach these pesky rodents that we floppy-fringed twee people, despite our delicate sensibilities, are not to be messed with.  Indiepop rules, OK?

Comments

[Clare]

Well, what a small world it is. My evening seems to have been hijacked by the discovery I made today that the internet is full of interesting blogs.

For the last 6 months I've been a lone blogger, blithely ignorant of the rest of the blogging world. But tonight I've discovered Troubled Diva, Little Red Boat, and now you.

Why the "small world" comment? Well, I arrived at your blog because I read a post of yours in the Little Red Boat blog and noticed you were from Manchester... so thought I'd see if I could find out more. And now I find you live in Levenshulme. As do I. And I'll tell you a secret: I've finally discovered (after many years of false starts) how to get the better of the Levenshulme Mouse.

Aha, you thought I was going to tell you the how-to-get-rid-of-them secret? Nah. I just told you the I-know-how-to-get-rid-of-them secret. For the rest, you will have to pay the standard fee required. And it don't involve cat suits. ;o)

[jonathan]

A surefire way of getting rid of mice that does not involve a man in a catsuit? I can scarcely credit it- but if our three-pronged approach to dealing with our invasion fails to work, I may well be coming back and begging you for the secret, Clare.

Meanwhile I am glad you have found the site (via the excellent troubled diva/ little red boat)- it is indeed a small world! If you look about you will find a fair few more M19-related stories-there's one about Barry from Eastenders opening the Kwiksave (how exciting was that??) and another about the arrival of cafe-bar culture on the A6, in the form of Cody's cafe.

Enjoy reading, and welcome to Crinklybee!

[Abby]

I have a mousetrapping secret - the 99c all-american humane mouse trap used with ...peanut butter. At least it works on NYC mice. The side effect ? It puts you off peanut butter for ever and ever. But it works like a charm. We caught our mouse in a few hours and let him go right next to someone else's apartment building and he ran off into the night as happy as larry.

I have one trap left and I will send it to you if you think you can handle peanut butter power and greatness!

[jonathan]

Peanut butter or mice? Now that is a difficult conundrum, as I really, really do like peanut butter. I will need to give this matter some very careful thought.

But your suggestion reminds me of another option I forgot to mention-I could try playing our visitors the CD you sent us years ago of Raymond Scott's 'Tom and Jerry' soundtrack music and hope it makes the mouse run away. Equally, of course, he could be inspired to pick up a giant frying pan and chase us round the house with it, cackling fearlessly.

Hmmm- on second thoughts I think I will stick with the Talulah Gosh 12 inches and the catsuit...

[Clare]

I've never been to Cody's, which is silly because I can practically see it out of the window even as I type. I just assumed it wouldn't be much cop, cynical thing that I am.

I'll have to hunt down your post on the matter...

[Clare]

Aha, found it. It seems Cody's is not what / where I thought it was. How can a woman live in a place and pay so little attention to it?
I'll have to try it out.
On a vaguely related note, my other 'alf is a reporter for the Metro. But it weren't 'im wot ruined Cody's reputation, I promise.
But on another Levenshulme note, my street was featured on R4 the other day. It seems John Thaw's mum grew up in the house at the end of my street. And there are only eleven houses on my street. It's all quite dramatic cos John Thaw's mum abandoned him when he was a kid and he never talked about her - so Sheila Hancock had to wait until after his death to track her down. Apparently she came and knocked on the door. Not that I saw her. Isn't it pathetic how excited one can get at the thought of such things as Sheila Hancock knocking on a neighbour's door, or Barry opening Kwiksave? Even more pathetic was my impulse to contact her and say "I live on the same street as John Thaw's mum and I'm a novelist". Luckily I resisted it.
Hang on, Barry opened Kwiksave? Why? When? How (Kwiksave wasn't closed in the first place - was it?)? Right, off to hunt about your site a little more...

[jonathan]

John Thaw you say, Clare? We're quite the artistic community in Levenshulme, aren't we, what with our TV actors' errant mothers, novelists, and reporters for the Metro- not to mention the girl from Big Brother who lives on our street. What next- Hugh Grant sipping a latte in Cody's? I would not be surprised. Barry from Eastenders was on August 27th, by the way, in case you haven't found him yet.

Looby/ Billy- I know, Stockport County are fantastic. They're going to win the FA Cup- you read it here first. Unfortunately I won't be able to report on their second round game v Swansea tomorrow because I'm off to see Santa Claus in Bury (he's living in Bury nowadays, apparently the motorway connections in Lapland leave a lot to be desired). So maybe you'll get a report on that instead.

Abby- yes, I can happily confirm that, even in this multi-channel age, we are still turning our tellies over 'to see what is on the other side'- even though the invention of ITV before we were both born should have made the expression obsolete. And as for life stories, they are like buses- there hasn't been one for a while, so very soon there will quite possibly be three at once- just as soon as I can decide what to write them about....

[Clare]

Sissy! The BB woman. Yes. We knew her before she Went on The Telly - or at least we knew people who knew her - so when BB started there was much excited pointing and exclamations of "We know her! Well, sort of..."

I keep seeing her down the Horseshoe at the pub quiz on Thursday nights. Watch out for a crowd of drunken mad people. They're my mates. Oh hang on, that describes pretty much everyone there...

[Clare]

That's mad as in in-and-out-of-mental-hospital btw. Not mad as in "My mates are mad, they are. They get really pissed and they're really maaaaad".

I'm not helping, am I? I'll shut up now.