Of mice and men

I’ve been fairly quiet recently as nothing ridiculous has happened in the last few weeks. Until Saturday. I had a bit of a heavy week last week and managed to hit the pub on four out of five week-nights, so thought I would have a quiet day in the garden on Saturday, trying to get rid of the stripy legs I acquired after accidentally getting sunburnt whilst wearing a pair of three quarter length leggings. So there I am, happy as larry in my garden, lying on a sleeping bag reading my book, even managing to ignore the screaming children, police sirens and banging house music from next door. My flatmate comes out to join me and we have our usual whinge about men, money and life in general. Then she points out the fact that I may have positioned my new (only bought a month ago) sleeping bag over a dead mouse which she’d noticed a few days before (we can but hope it was the one from the kitchen (see below)). Sure enough, I gingerly lift up the part of the sleeping bag which I had been lying on only moments before to find the manky remains of a half decayed mouse. Oh, and a large dog poo.
Needless to say I still have stripy legs as the sunbathing didn’t seem massively appealing after that.