Foxy Bingo

Lying in bed last night was a really surreal experience. In fact, it took me some time to fall asleep. A blizzard was raging outside and the white snow was reflecting the halogen lights in the alleyway behind us. A milky orange glow was peering through the gaps in the curtains. More curious was the fact that all the city sounds seemed to be being amplified tenfold by the stillness of the snow. I heard the most curious sound, like a little like a puppy being stamped on, but lasting six times as long. I peered out of the window to see a ragged-looking fox, which had obviously just had a fight, limping its way down our garden path.

Much is being made of urban foxes at the moment. A baby got “mauled” by one in South London a couple of days ago. You'd think the media was reporting the escape of a psychopath from a high security jail. One woman, a neighbour (there’s always a neighbour), said she felt lucky to be alive; "that fox could easily have attacked me after that poor baby..."

All sorts of people, including Boris Johnson, are now coming out of the woodwork to demand we start culling foxes. A friend of mine (who’ll remain anonymous) suggested the rise in urban foxes is actually due to the fox hunting ban. At first we thought she was suggesting that foxes are now so bored in the wild, they're rushing to London for a spot of adventure tourism, but after much ragging, she admitted that she thought there were so many foxes in rural locations these days that they were being forced to move to the cities! A vulpine re-enactment of the Grapes of Wrath!

I’ve spent this evening on the White City estate with a group of women playing bingo in a community centre. I met some wonderful characters, who shared all sorts of memories with me. I’ve never played bingo, but always longed to. I’m hoping if I hang around with these ladies often enough, they might invite me to join them!