They’re far worse than mice, chew electrical wiring, smell awful and you can’t exterminate them… how I discovered the new breed of vermin that’s terrorising thousands – and this is the area worst affected: ALEXANDRA SHULMAN

The other day I was moaning to a friend about a mouse I’d discovered running around the kitchen. He had little sympathy. ‘At least you don’t have glis glis,’ was his dismissive response.

I’d never heard of glis glis, but it turns out they are a rare but destructive pest.

Looking like fat dormice, with grey fur, big eyes and a distinctive bushy tail, a few were brought to this country from Italy at the start of the 20th century by keen zoologist Lionel Walter Rothschild, the 2nd Baron Rothschild.

He added them to what became a world-famous natural collection of animals and plants at Tring Park, the family residence in Hertfordshire. 

Six of his glis glis are thought to have escaped and there are now an estimated 30,000 roaming a specific part of the Chilterns in Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire and Berkshire. 

Their cute appearance is deceptive given the chaos they cause. Think the ­Terminator dressed up as Bambi.

Glis glis make their home in wall cavities, piping and lofts, and are most likely to be found in old, uninsulated houses. They chew through electric wires, scuttling noisily around at night, and ­frequently leave a trail of ­nasty-smelling urine.

They are also very difficult to get rid of, as my friend can testify. Because, guess what? They are a protected species and, as such, can only be removed by licensed pest controllers. Not surprisingly, when my friend occasionally gets his hand on one, he takes the risk of dealing with it himself.

So far these pests have mainly kept to their original stomping ground. It’s rare for them to make an appearance in London – although, according to pest control specialists Pest UK, 145 were once found in a house in the City.

Suddenly the odd mouse and squirrel chasing around my west London garden appear a lot more benign.

Vampish Nigella’s cooking with gas

There can’t be many of us who have never watched Bake Off, but now Nigella’s going to be a judge, I will be tuning in for the first time.

This is no insult to Mary Berry or Prue Leith, who I imagine were excellent – although how hard can it be tucking into a ton of carbs while delivering verdicts?

The fact is, I find anything Nigella appears in fascinating to watch. Not because of her trademark sexual innuendoes (though I do ­wonder how she will approach a drizzle of icing without being suggestive), but for her skill in creating a TV persona. 

How will she adapt her real self to Bake Off?

The TV Nigella adored by ­millions is a brilliant creation who is nothing like the Nigella Lawson I first met many decades ago.

She has always been beautiful in a splendid, Cleopatra-style way and loves dressing up for fun, occasionally vamping it up with the best of them. But she was, and still is, far more comfortable in sloppy, plain clothes than the ­bosomy looks she appears in on her cookery shows.

She’s always had her distinctive voice – speedy with a touch of Monroe breathiness – but she’s learnt how to camp it up and exaggerate it for television. 

Not for her, the more democratic, downplayed ladette vowels of many presenters – though, come to think of it, both Mary and Prue sound more like Sir John Betjeman’s 1940s muse Joan Hunter Dunn. Perhaps it’s a cook thing.

The real Nigella will have thought about how she will ­interact with the rest of the Bake Off ensemble. Will she flirt with Paul Hollywood? I doubt it. Is she going to out-glam Alison Hammond? Probably not.

Channel 4 will no doubt want a great dollop of her sexual allure but she’s too clever to want to be seen as remotely predatory. Whatever she does, it’s going to be highly entertaining.

While Nigella’s TV programmes have brought her huge fame, Bake Off puts her in the National Treasure league. A Burberry campaign and damehood are surely around the corner.

Bard’s too bleak in grim times

Hamnet is clearly a remarkable film but nothing could convince me to see it. The world is so grim at the moment that choosing to immerse myself in misery is not on my wish list of activities. 

For a few months now, I’ve been avoiding reading or watching anything that will make me sad.

It’s not that I want to live on a diet of Gavin & Stacey reruns – although I frequently return to them as a quick pick-me-up – but I’m steering clear of unutterably bleak stories of death and trauma. I have Radio 4’s Today programme and BBC News at Ten for that.

Stockholm will give you a warm glow

If I was a city planner, I would use Stockholm as my style inspiration. Not for the many bike lanes, but for its wonderful street lighting.

Visiting the Swedish capital last week, I was struck by how it never looks depressing despite the lack of sunlight in the winter months.

Stockholm’s streetlights don’t have the ugly glare of those in the UK. They are a mixture of the historical and modern, but even those with LED bulbs shed a warm glow.

And few inhabitants close their curtains or blinds, which allows their chic pendant lamps or candles to illuminate the streets as the daylight fades.

A bagpipe-led tribute to die for

London may have bad lighting but it’s still a city of meaningful, small communities. On Friday, the well-liked London property surveyor Harry True, who died suddenly at 62, was given a sterling send off with a long bagpipe-led procession of mourners.

The road was lined with local shopkeepers standing outside to pay their respects to a man who had probably visited all our houses for one issue or another.

It was a majestic sight and reminded me of a comment designer Tom Ford made to me about the fulsome tributes to a fashion personality: ‘You gotta die to get service like that.’