I've lived in Leith for five months now, but this has been our best garden guest

Instead, we’ve gone for a simple silver star.

However, last week there was nothing short of a Christmas miracle, when we were visited by a real life fairy, who had alighted on the top branch of a very tall apple tree in our garden. Well, I exaggerate, as it was actually a grey squirrel. This dude, who we’ve named Clarence after the angel in It’s a Wonderful Life, didn’t have a wand but was clutching a whole morning roll to his furry bosom, as if it was a hot water bottle.

Both of us grabbed our phones, so we could take pics of the beautiful winter wildlife scene, which we’ll immediately send off to Winterwatch, though I have a feeling that Chris Packham won’t find it amusing.

Anyway, Clarence was in the carb-loading zone. He was chomping his unbuttered bap from the base up, and his portly white crumb-scattered tum seemed to be expanding with every bite. For about 30 minutes, he remained frozen in food rapture, until another wise guy decided that he wanted a piece of the action and made chase.

The next day, Clarence was back in the same spot, except with a fresh morning roll. He ate most of it in the tree, then moved down to the bench for the whole fine dining experience.

This was a surprise to me. I didn’t know, until now, that squirrels are omnivorous, though it was TMI to discover that this will occasionally include small birds.

Although they are scavengers, white bread doesn’t provide them with any of the nutrients they need for a long Scottish winter. Still, the same could be said for us humans. I eat it, even if it does give me the bloat.

I suppose that someone in the neighbourhood must be feeding him. I don’t know what they’ll do when he starts to ask for them to be filled with square sausage, bacon and acorns that have been fried sunny side up. Or when his pals all start putting in orders.

The Leith Squirrel Society is not confined to our back garden. Since moving to the area, I have been surprised by the amount of these kawaii rodents.

I see them all the time. Just yesterday, I witnessed a strangely festive argument between a squirrel and a robin in the Tesco carpark.

There are always individuals legging it across Duke Street. The existence of ginger-fronted The Tufty Club makes it ironic that they seem to be better at crossing roads than the reds. I haven’t seen any flattened ones yet, though about three of the five red squirrels that I’ve spotted in my lifetime were as mangled as biltong.

There are tons in Leith Links, including one that I worry for, as it has a strange misshapen and matted tail that it drags along. Anyway, we first discovered our own back garden scurry when we moved into the house back in the summer.

First, there was Popcorn. I met her when my husband called for me to come to the window one morning.

On our small patch of lawn, there was a squirrel having what looked like some sort of funny turn. She was doing wiggly backflips, then squaring up to a plant pot, before running high speed up to a nonplussed-looking pigeon and stopping centimetres before beak-to-whiskers collision.

After a few minutes of the lawn performance, the tree action began, with corkscrews round branches, pole dancing, long leaps and maniacal swinging.

“What a shame,” I said. “It must be suffering from the squirrel equivalent of myxomatosis. Some sort of horrible brain disease. It’ll be dead by morning”.

Then I Googled it, and it turns out that squirrels - especially the young ones, with lots of energy to expend - get zoomies, just like dogs, cats and the Duracell bunny.

Someone online described it as ‘popcorning’, and our resident squirrel had its name.

Since then, we have met the whole family. Every day, there is some soap-opera-style action in and around the tree.

The last residents of our house had a dog, so I think they’ve become more gallus now that they’ve worked out that their enemy is no longer living here.

Back in the late summer, my husband briefly became irritated by them digging up the lawn to cache their treats. This becomes more annoying when you know that they often fake this, to confuse potential thieves.

Anyway, he bought some green net, and pegged it across the circle of grass, to protect it from their sessions. After a brief spell of confusion, they were soon rolling around underneath the edges to antagonise him. He gave up quite quickly and we put the net into the shed.

As far as their home goes, our tree has a big hunchback-like clump of English ivy climbing up its back, and we think there’s probably a metropolis of dreys in there.

The group we see daily must be littermates. At first, there was a lot of play fighting and chasing, but recently, it’s been getting serious and not so fun. I know what it’s like, my fluffy friends, I still remember when my little sister went through a biting stage. Still, they’re not particularly territorial, so they shake paws in the end.

It was probably one of Clarence’s siblings who tried to pinch the roll from him. Might’ve even been Popcorn.

Those two together, with baps and dancing, makes for total squirrel mayhem.

I need to message Winterwatch asap.

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