S-s-s-singular.

Hello.

Sorry I've not been about, I can't say I've been that inspired of late and I've been staring at a computer screen all day anyway. I'm not sure I completely agree with this work mullarkey but I'll keep at it until they tire of my stupid mistakes. If you've been following, I've taken up a position with a toy auction site for a few weeks and earlier today I accidentally listed a set of 8 Corgi models for £2995 when it should have been £20. I only noticed a few minutes ago when I went to check something else. Thank heavens for teh interwebs and being able to remember the login. When I last worked in an office, computers all had IBM written on them somewhere and the internet was a spelling mistake so it's taken a few days to get up to speed. Unfortunately my acceleration is more Imp than than Impreza.

Weekends have been spent getting physical with bow saws, axes and sundry other garden implements. My favourite one at the moment is the odd rake thing that scrapes up the horse shit. Have you any idea how much a barrow of that stuff weighs? I hope this is all worth it. I was carting around a bit of excess when I arrived down here nearly six weeks ago and although there doesn't seem to be much less of it, I feel better. My parents seem to be thriving on it, they're both in their 70s and still have all their own teeth. I do hope S isn't expecting a six pack next week though; it's still a bit of a Party Seven. OK, maybe a Party Four. To think I used to run 100 metres in a bit over 11 seconds.

To return to things rather more bucolic. Yesterday Mum went out to feed the horses after I'd left for work. She went into the small haystore to fill the nets and was rather surprised to see this fast asleep on the bales, basking in the sun streaming in through the doorway. She was a bit taken aback - she had after all confined a wild animal in an enclosed space. This is the countryside and these aren't city foxes that will walk up the road behind you if you've got a bag of chips like they used to do in Belvedere (if you've got a bag of chips in your hand in Belvedere, anybody will follow you, not only the wildlife. Although that's being rather disingenuous to the real wildlife as they're often more civilised than the local humans in Bexley). That's not to say these foxes are vicious or anything, either, they're just not used to humans. This one though was rather different. It didn't respond to Mum's encouragements to shift itself so, fearing it was injured, she went to fetch my Dad. He came armed with his camera. As you can see, Renard was still in situ, completely unphased by the flashes from the two pictures Dad took. They fetched a broom to try and shovel him out with but he still wasn't having anything of it. In the end he eventually grew tired of these two strangers trying to kick him out of his bed and tried to climb up the wall. Finding no exit through the roof he jumped down and trotted out the door. He was probably lucky. Had Des next door found him, he would probably have been on the receiving end of a twelve bore cartridge as repayment for the lambs that have gone missing over the past three years. Of course, the gentlemen in pink would rather you called them out for what they laughingly call "pest control". I don't think so, not in these quarters. Life's tough but rather a swift despatch than being ripped to shreds by ravening hounds in the name of a good ride out, eh? Actually, I'd rather pay a few pence a pound more for lamb and suffer the losses but I'm not going to argue that one here.


(Huge prizes to the first one to suss the title)