So begins Wikipedia's article on moles. The choice of the word 'cylindrical' has conjured up unfortunate images of several moles aligned nose to tail in a Smarties tube, and the phrase 'a subterranean lifestyle' might as well just be synonymous with 'a cellar generously stocked with Bordeaux and smoked ham', in my mind.
But moles. It is mating season here (so I am told), and molehills have started popping up; little brown mounds of earth only hinting at the terrors below. I'm sure my dad didn't believe me at first when I told him there was a molehill. He asked: "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure," I replied. "Unless there's an enormously confused submarine with a curious periscope buried out there."
I'm not sure I expected a response to this.
Of course, digging is what moles do. Come hell or high...won't high water flood them out?What they should do is set up a mole syndicate, something to ease them off the destructive effects of tunnelling. Diggers Anonymous.
"Hello, I'm a mole...and I have a digging problem. I dug twenty metres yesterday. My paws hurt and are dirty all the time but I can't stop." Other moles could lend a friendly (tiny) ear, suport them to quit.
The alternative is worse: mole traps or deterrents. Which is precisely what my furious papa purchased to declare subterranean war on those velvety lawn-wreckers. It is, in fact, called the 'sonic mole repeller' - meaning it either only repels those pesky sonic moles, or it refers to the high-pitched whine it makes. I suppose it's sort of like Dr Who's sonic screwdriver but way less cool, more static, and (I am truly desolate about this) no alien in a bow tie. Just a distinctly irked father testing out his new mole deterrent toy in the dining room.
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