Free Diary of a Provincial Lesbian by V. G. Lee

‘Plucky lone woman slaughtered by renegade badger!’
    ‘Calm down badger,’ I ordered which had no effect at all.
    I picked up a plastic flower pot and tossed it at him. It glanced lightly off his back. Immediately he turned and rushed towards me. I screamed, stepped back, dropped torch, panicked. Badger every bit as terrified swerved to his left into an alcove between the shed and our fire log store. I picked up the torch and switched it off.
    His head was pressed against the fence in the theory that if he couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see him. I noticed a patch of white against the black of his dusty fur coat. He trembled as I gingerly tip-toed past. Pulled the top and bottom, back gate bolts, lifted the latch, wedged the gate open with a piece of wood. Retreated back to the corner of the house and waited.
    Took two minutes for badger to find his courage - peel away from the fence and trot through the open gate.
     
     
    March 23 rd
    This afternoon found myself dwelling on animals, wild and domestic. Am I starting to feel more of a rapport with my furred and feathered friends than with human-kind? Would not like to think that were true but when recounting badger tale to Miriam at lunch found myself referring to Mr Badger quite easily as if describing Mr Wheeler trying to escape from my garden. Then went on to a rambling story about how Mr and Mrs Golden Eagle couldn’t have baby eagles because their eggs were infertile due to farmers’ blanket use of TNT sprays.
    Miriam looking very puzzled, ‘I thought farmers couldn’t use TNT anymore.’
    ‘Oh no they can’t. This is Mr and Mrs Golden Eagle circa 1970.’
    ‘Oh,’ says Miriam, ‘so we’re not talking recent history?’
    Going home I realised that in the past week alone I’d also told Miriam about Tilly’s ability to talk, about a duck and two ducklings Georgie stopped the car for last spring, that seagulls could be trained to lower their voices by the firm repetition of ‘That’s quite enough’, and my aunt’s Minah bird that swore. Aunt and Minah bird dead at least fifteen years.
     
     
    March 24 th
    Miriam querying my badger story. Says she repeated story to naturalist family friend who’d said, ‘what was badger doing off beaten track?’
    If badger’s ‘beaten track’ was now outside my kitchen window surely I would be woken every night from now on. Had I? Admitted I hadn’t. Put forward my own theory that badger had somehow fallen off ‘beaten track’ and into my garden by accident. ‘From a helicopter?’ Miriam quipped. And now I continued firmly, liberated badger had returned to wherever his ‘beaten track’ was and would be more careful in the future.
     
     
    March 25 th
    Reported back to Mr Wheeler; one flat left empty with fan light window open in Crawford Road, one lost dog - black and white, answers to the name of Findlay, one estate agent’s board sited at a hazardous angle over the pavement.
    ‘Nothing else to report Margaret?  Are you keeping an eye on front garden dustbins for multiple empty bottles and lager cans?’
    ‘Yes Mr Wheeler. Saw none. ‘
    ‘Any leafleting needed re. the dog?’
    ‘Taken care of by owner.’
    ‘Should I get onto the estate agent?’
    ‘Done it’.’
    ‘Excellent Margaret. You’re proving an asset to the Watch. Now what about that open window? Perhaps give the police a bell - don’t want squatters moving in, do we?’
    Agree that we don’t. Realised that I was standing to attention, hand positioned on breast as if I was carrying a musket. Present arms, Margaret. Stand at ease. Made my body relax, slumped shoulders.
    I was in Mr Wheeler’s kitchen. It was old fashioned but clean and very tidy. On the dresser was a silver framed photograph of Mr Wheeler and his wife, possibly the same age as I am now. I looked away.
    ‘Cup of tea?’
    ‘Better get on.’
    Mr Wheeler ignored this and put a light under the kettle, ‘I’d like you to hang on for a moment. Just a quick word