Monday, 19 April 2010
I'd like to put my name down for the Olympics please...no, not for seats, I'd like to enter myself for the sprint. Actually, is there a race where your cat has a baby bunny in it's mouth that is squealing like a stuck pig and you have to lash about the garden vaulting hurdles of raised beds and chickens in order to retrieve said bunny in an effort to ensure that it doesn't join the rest of the dead headless uneaten bunnies under the barbeque? [sod the punctuation - I'm too tired to punctuate] Oh. There is no such race? Best scrub my name off then!