Tickets, Money, Passport?

With no small amount of irony I found myself doing the ironing (that in itself a rare event) whilst watching Desperate Housewives last night.

I quite liked it. I genuinely laughed out load at one point (on a show about a woman's suicide and funeral?) but I'm not convinced I'm going to love it. Famous last words no doubt.

Over Christmas, which I spent in the rural outskirts of Chester, we went for a walk on a cold and rainy Christmas Eve. The prime reason being to take the dog for a run. I traipsed across muddy fields in suitable attire borrowed from more bucolic types, my face red and cold under a torrent of driving rain. Ah yes the country life for me. That is until on the last stretch, civilisation just in sight, a rabbit ran across the field. It stopped suddenly and did a fairly bad impersonation of a rock. The dog, oblivious at this point, was heading for the gate. My companion, in her wisdom, called the dog, straight into the path of the rabbit. I didn't think I was squeamish. I'm not really. The rabbit however ran valiantly for a few yards before in one last lunge was killed, with a rather awful squeak, as the dog took it in his teeth.

I couldn't be in the same room as the dog after that.