Just had to remove a putrid, rotting bird from the pool outside my workplace. I fished it out with the net, then picked it up with the plastic bag, and the damned thing just about fell apart. A big eel cruised up, eyed the floating remains and cruised away - too revolting even for him. Can't say my job doesn't have variety.
Lots of obsessive gardening lately, three lovely days at the weekend. Didn't turn on the TV once, just read a book about Tuscany, so this did wonders for my state of mind. Forget the elections, the bad news, the destruction of the city by demolishers, the (still!) discussions about the bloody rugby.
Guy Fawke's night this Saturday, now there's a "tradition" that we could get rid of. Why we celebrate this I'll never know. All it means to me is having terrified cats cowering all night under chairs, meowing sadly.
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