Wombling Through Winter with a Hearty Beef Casserole.

A hearty beef casserole. May even be edible.

With the weather becoming colder and less forgiving by the day, it's time to turn our thoughts to the plight of our furry garden visitors. Squirrels and urban foxes can look after themselves, and frankly they've had enough press. But what about Wombles? How can the average person help these shy, misunderstood creatures?

Since the end of their BBC TV series in 1975, this largely imaginary species has fallen on hard times. Realising they did not own the publishing rights to their hit records came as a blow, and the housing slump of 1977 mean that buying the freehold on their burrow with the money from the show proved a costly mistake.

A common misconception is that Wombles will eat anything. People throw bits of potato peel and carrot tops into the garden in the hope of attracting them. Though omnivorous and sometimes desperate, they do still have standards. Would you be happy if someone expected you to eat raw, rotting food off a patio in the dark while secretly filming it? No, though I would consider it if the money was right. Dignity is no substitute for cold, hard cash.

Fully grown Wombles can weigh up to 170lbs and need to feed regularly, especially in autumn and winter. Their preferred diet consists of things everyday folks leave behind. Increasingly, this means junk food thrown from cars by the stupid, but this makes them fart like thunder. The reason is that the Womble has the longest alimentary canal of any urban scavenger. Like dogs, foxes can investigate potential food sources by eating them. Anything bad will usually reappear at the other end long before bacteria has time to overwhelm the animal's digestive system. Not so the Womble, and white fun fur is difficult to get clean without machine washing.

Because of their unique feeding habits, urban Wombles have been observed feeding in pairs. One pretends to drop food in the form of litter for the other to pick up, and vice versa. But when times are hard a hungry Womble will deliberately tip over a recycling bin. It's thought their appetite is at least partly activated by movement, and that the sight of so much litter being dropped stimulates them to feed.

Wombles will not eat dog or cat food left out for them for the simple reason that it is horrible. Cats eat it because they're too lazy too cook, and dogs know no better. There's a pervasive myth that Wombles will take marmalade sandwiches, but this is simply not true.

Never try to hand feed any Wombles that visit your garden. Like pandas, they may seem docile but can react with lightning speed, and will bite your finger clean off trying to get at your wedding ring to pay off old gambling debts.

The perfect winter Womble food is a rich beef casserole, served in carefully discarded soup cans, or those foil trays that only the Chinese and Indian food industries seem to have truly mastered. Be careful not to crimp the cardboard lid down however, as this makes it difficult to remove with paws. Encourage feeding behaviour by misleadingly writing “Fried Rice” or a Chinese symbol on the lid.

Below is my beef casserole recipe. It's suitable for UK garden Wombles, and may even be OK for human consumption.

1 Onion

2 Really big carrots

1 tbsp dried thyme

1 tbsp vegetable oil

1 tbsp butter

2 tbsp plain flour

2 tbsp tomato purée

2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

2 beef stock cubes, crumbled

700-800g stewing beef

Dental floss

First off, you either need an iron casserole dish that can go on the hob, or a pottery one and a big saucepan.

By really big carrots, I mean REALLY big. So big that a boorish friend or colleague would immediately exclaim, “Oo-er missus!” as if they're the first to realise carrots make great sex toys, especially when carved into novelty shapes, such as Noddy Holder or the Duke of Kent.

Now, we've previously had words about how the filthy hole you call an oven needs a run up to get to temperature, so cover for it by setting the temperature to 160C, or gas 3. Also start boiling the kettle.

Slice the carrots into big chunks as if repeatedly performing the same botched circumcision, and throw them into the pot. Start slicing the onions, then wonder how come it looks so easy on the TV. Add them to the pan along with the oil, butter and thyme.

Cook the vegetables for 10 mins on a medium heat, while the oil and butter scream at them. Further confuse the situation by suddenly adding the tomato purée, Worcestershire sauce and beef stock cubes. Gradually stir in 600ml of hot water (you did remember to boil the kettle, right?), then stir in the flour. Finally, tip in 700-800g of stewing beef and bring the whole thing to a gentle simmer while you clean up the splashes from dropping in the meat in one big lump.

If you've been using a separate saucepan because you thought you were being clever by buying a cheap pottery casserole dish, transfer the hot ingredients to the dish and clean up all the new splashes incurred while doing so.

Cover the pot and suddenly realise that you next need to cook everything for two-and-a-half sodding hours, and that this is only the start.

After initial cooking, you'll have to reach into the oven using an old towel for protection, and remove the top from the pot without burning the back of your hand, while hot air is being blasted into your face. You then need to cook the dish for another 30 mins, or until the meat has completely given up and lies broken like a badly beaten boxer. Be careful when sampling the meat however, because it will deliberately try to get caught between your teeth. Now you see why the recipe calls for dental floss. You're welcome. You don't get this level of detail with other so-called cookery blogs, do you? So how come you'll follow them and share their posts and not mine? I... I thought you liked me.

You may have noticed that this dish is fairly low carbohydrate in nature. You can ruin all that by serving it with some nice, crusty bread as if you know what you're doing.