Mistaken Identity,

Crammed a lot in today, This afternoon I drove to the farm and pet place, to stock up on various bits and bats, and got mistaken for a bona fide farmer by a chap desperate for help with of all things, mole traps. When I was waiting at the check out, this little guy ambled up and quietly asked in typical spy style "are you s farmer?" Beaming with pride, I replied with a small touch of exaggeration that I had a small holding and he then quickly asked me about the best way of using moletraps.
Now I wasn't fazed by my sudden elevation to livestock expert, as I remembered watching the 1940's House on UKTVGold, and surprising myself I gave him a detailed account of how to set a successful mole trap, complete with a few tricks of trade such as using a big leaf to gently cover the mechanism before you trickle fine soil over the top of it. He looked very impressed I must say, with my bullshit
I took the sick black hooker to the vets, knowing full well that she was about to enter that big brothel in the sky. The poor girl looked dreadful, and according to the vet, was suffering from dropsy!!!! (heart failure) luckily she had nothing contagious (as I had feared) and he put her down promptly by injecting her directly into the heart.
Typically of a country vet, he then unceremoniously dropped her into a swing bin located in the corner of the consultation room.
There is no room for sentimentality in Caerwys
When I got home I moved Elizabeth and Shelley, the buffs into the tame buff enclosure, walked the dogs on the beach and pottered around doing chores. The weather again has been dreadful