The Squiddel

A creature of myth, and perhaps legend, concocted by the mouths of under 4s who struggle with wordage with their itty bitty teeth and their embouchures trained into muscle memory honed by years of sooking on boobs, teats or sooky cups.

The squiddel is a mysterious, limbic creature hovering somewhere between land and sea but mostly found in mid-air because the illustrator got halfway through illustrating it and realised the natural habitat hadn’t been thought through. It is a shy animal and quite vulnerable if it dozes off at groundlevel: shrews like to tie its tentacles around tree roots. It exists on a diet of pickles and biro ink and the occasional cola bottle. They have a reputation for cheating at rock,paper, scissors and some hypothesise this was the origin of the squiddel/shrew fallout. Hibernation is between November and the last Thursday in March.

The squiddel has found its way into everyday culture in such scenarios as moving up a nursery grouping e.g. “I’m in squiddels now, Dad. Oliver is in budderflies.”. Keen-eyed as they are some toddlers have claimed to have seen squiddels skedaddling up tree trucks but I have only ever caught glimpses of the tail end.

Why no cardboard boxes?

For the curious there is a reason why there have been no posts for two weeks. The reason is Moving House. Another reason is Setting Up As Self-Employed.

Which is also why I’m now 35% gin.

We loved the forest we were in but we wanted to call Scotland ‘home’ again.

So, the obvious thing to draw would be an innumerable pile of cardboard boxes but ENOUGH WITH THE CARDBOARD BOXES so no cardboard boxes.

Instead this was a day spent getting to know the local area (Gartmorn Dam) while Sven was away at a job interview.

Rowdy and The Bobcat managed to personify Eddie Izzard’s description of shower dial effects: one second lobsterpot-hot and – with a slight degree of shift – freezy-FREEZY cold EVASIVE MANOUVRES!

So we had delightful gambolling through the pathways, one moment watching slugs and geese and the next “My legs are SO TIIIIIRRED. They have STOPPED WORKING” and “What about THE MIDGIES?!?! They will eat us ALIVE! There will only be BONES. Bones and a FAT FAT MIDGIE!!”

The situation below developed after I had issued VERY CLEAR instructions not to go into the water as I hadn’t brought any towels with me and then I naively turned round to get their waterproof trousers out of the kitbag.

Seaside Standards

He’ll pee outdoors.

He’ll pee and “forget” to wash his hands.

He’ll pee, “forget” to wash his hands and then happily watch an animation on GERMS and HAND-WASHING. And then watch it again. And then start picking his nose. And eating his snot. He’ll go back for seconds. Thirds. There’s a five course dinner going on actually on his face and it’s the only meal we make a saving on ketchup.

But rinsing his hands in the sea…?