Jonathan Self tells the story of a rather friendly rodent who seems happy to ride his luck.
‘It’s so quiet,’ said the house guest from London, pushing back his chair, ‘and relaxed. The countryside is’ — he searched for the mot juste — ‘tranquil.’
It was after lunch, one of those rare, long, languid, outdoor, perfect-summer-day lunches that occur far too infrequently, and we were sitting on the terrace gazing at the sea. I wanted to reply: ‘Are you…
