Andy Richardson: Nuts about Bond and tasty squirrels

In his spare time – I know, how does he find spare time if he's doing all that – he organises photo shoots. And let me tell you, they're brilliant.

*No money changed hands during the writing of this week's opening paragraph. He's just really, really good at what he does.

A client asked him to organise a faux James Bond shoot. And so Mr Media Fix-It booked a stately home, two fast cars, a couple of girls who look a little like Gisele Bundchen and Naomi Campbell. And then he booked a James Bond lookalike stuntman. Such things do exist. Though they're not available at Sainsbury's.

"What we're going to do is recreate a fire scene," he said. "The stuntman will walk towards the girls and the cars while he's on fire. It'll be brilliant."

And so they bought two £20 suits from a cut-price clothing store, doused the first in fuel and struck a match.

Pssst. Whhhsssttt. A few wisps of red and amber licked the jacket but it was rubbish.

Undeterred, they took the second suit out of the carrier. "Let's go again, but this time no room for error."

A billy can of fuel later. They set the £20 suit on fire and with it, the stuntman. As cameras clicked, the flames crept into areas they weren't supposed to reach – I think the technical term is 'all over his face' and 'into his hair'. It made for great pictures, but the poor guy had to be rolled in gravel and squirted by a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher as soon as the cameras had stopped clicking.

He laughed about it afterwards, as only the brave do. "I'm fine, just a bit scorched."

Being set on fire is a funny way to earn a living, but the pictures were top drawer.

Now, this is going to be tricky.

I need to leap from Secret Agents to Sciurus Carolinensis – the latin name for Grey Squirrel. And that ain't easy. The man upstairs – he of the pleasant jacket, five o'clock shadow and @TweetCashmore moniker – would have no problem. He once worked for a magazine called Nuts so would have segued seamlessly between topics: squirrels, Nuts. . . how easy is that.

Things are not so easy, however, for a Paul Weller obsessive who hangs out with chefs and owns too many Vivienne Westwood suits. So, quick key change. Can You Take It To The Bridge? Let Me Take It To The Bridge. Thank you, James Brown.

In his spare time, this week's weekend 007 cover star – the great, the sensational and the downright dazzling Sir Roger Moore – campaigns for animal rights. He supports Peta so it's a reasonable assumption that while Sir Roger loves small fluffy animals, like, err, squirrels, he couldn't eat a whole one. (You see what I did then? I'm almost as good as @TweetCashmore).

I, however, can. Squirrel is delicious. Think berries, think nuts, think meat. What's not to like? Squirrel is gamey, like duck-lamb-boar, and is available at supermarkets in Shropshire. That's how we roll in the Shires. A trip to Tuffins involves Bic razors, two pints of milk and a brace of frozen squirrels. You don't get a basket like that at Asda in Darlaston.

I called in to the supermarket. This is how it went.

"I'm calling about the squirrels."

"Squirrels?"

"Yes, the squirrels. I'd like to order some."

"I think you need a pet shop."

Doh.

The poor shop assistant's mind had raced to oak trees and fluffy grey fellas scampering up trees. Or she'd imagined the supermarket had been over-run by grey climb-ey rodents who were set to attack the bonfire display and cause havoc in the fireworks department.

Conversely, I was focusing on their frozen meat counter, where squirrel corpses were dormant and rigid at £7.49 a pop. And let me tell you, £7.49 is bloomin' good money from no-overhead-game.

I realise that by flagging up the margin on grey squirrel in newspapers that shift around 100,000 copies a night, I'm endangering the cute critters that live in local parks. Gangs of villains will go armed and dangerous. Gah. The vegans will hate me. And so will the park keepers.

The conversation continued.

"No, I'd like to order squirrels. You're selling them."

"Are we?"

"Yes."

I resisted the temptation to add: "And congratulations on your product knowledge."

"Well, you'll have to leave your name."

"That's fine, I will. How much are they each?"

"How do you spell that."

"What?"

"Your name. It's a very unusual name. Howmucharetheyeach."

My Black Country accent had confused a woman used to dealing with elongated country vowels.

"Richardson."

"Oh yes. Well, they're £7.49. Now, what did you say your name was?"

Miraculously, I placed an order. Four squirrels, no fires and a brilliant supper. Job done. The name's Squirrel. Secret Squirrel. Agent 000.