So, early this morning I was woken by the sound of a fox rummaging through our rubbish. I leant out of the window -- it was dark so I could only hear the fox -- and went 'psssstttttt!' as loudly as I could. I heard the fox skittering off down the lane.
When I cleared up the rubbish that Fantastic Mr Fox had spread all over the pavement I discovered what he'd eaten: manky old Greek salad, with feta cheese of almost indescribable stinkyness; burnt aubergine rind; maggoty cat food remains and the pickled jalapenos from Mr S's kebab.
What he didn't eat, however, were the orange and strawberry creams left over from a box of Roses. Even a fox won't touch those foulest of chocolates.
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