Vida is a vivacious, flamboyant and slightly bonkers painter who lives in a colourful treehouse to the south of The Field. You can’t miss her home as the entire tree, and everything inside it, has been painted with all imaginable things. There are hundreds of nuts painted with octopus flowers, gateaux hats, orange clouds and gold desert fountains… flamingos in silk dresses and neon blue stars. It’s like walking through a ‘theatre of the soul’ and everyone who stops by takes away a little piece of this visual feast.

It might seem incredible, but Vida has only recently discovered her love of painting and her home looked completely ordinary before last year. She used to live in a very beige house with a dark green carpet and mahogany trimmings. She had polished brass above her mantlepiece and a fake fire. Next to the fire she kept an enormous chest that she filled with thousands of hazelnuts that she would arrange into rows every evening and count. She had hoarded a great wealth and took great pleasure in showing this off to her fellow squirrels. She found that she had much more in common with those that also had a collection like hers and she could be heard passing comments such as “Well I honestly think he must be plain lazy if he only gathered 30 nuts this Autumn!” and “I suspect that she is jealous of my bounty.”

All this continued, until one day she began to feel out of sorts. However hard she tried she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that there was something missing in her life. Not something edible or watchable, not music, friends or fine clothes; for she had all of these things. It seemed to her now that the sun was losing it’s heat and it’s rising had no meaning… that she wouldn’t care if it never rose again. Around about this time Moltar noticed her lights were out and he took it upon himself to write her one of his well-meaning letters.

‘My Love… I always knew this day would come. I hope that you are able to free yourself from those mighty chains that were never yours to bear. Now go show your colours my friend! Moltar X’

It was a perfect letter.