And not a word in this post about knitting...

I have done a terrible thing. But motivated by love. The thing-that-is-so-nearly-written-up is really stressing me now (anyone hear nervous whimpering – that’ll be me). I was looking round the other evening to see who was making those weird sounds when one of the children said “But its you, mum”, so I took the day off (to sit at home and word-wrestle and silently stew) which meant I have taken the car in for a service, done the laundry, made the beds and then undertaken a wee trip to Milngavie to visit that supermarket that begins with a T (which they are re-organising as the one starting with an A just down the road is being pulled down and rebuilt and there is no relation to the lack of competition at all), so there I am getting more and more distressed (the results chapter is a killer, trust me) and circling, circling looking for where they have put the olives – a woman on the edge must have her olives. I swear there are people that look like they have been in there since last week still hunting their elusive last items on their shopping lists, but then they have done such logical things when sorting where what goes where – Jelly/custard is now above the frozen cauliflowers. Pickles are right next the chocolate (maybe they’ll move those…just too tempting for anyone pregnant).

So eventually when I come out I am fizzing slightly like an electricity sub-station and take myself off to the pet shop to look at hamsters for Madam for Christmas. I go downstairs to the critters and start looking – oh they are all so sweet. There are the amazing albino chipmunks that look like flying streaks of fluff, gerbils with furry tails, rats with naked tails, guinea pigs and a United Nations of hamsters – Russian and Siberian and whatever else that exist. But then I saw the rabbits, and one in particular. He was sitting in the corner cage and he was exquisite. Dark and glossy and with such a delicious dark thick coat, and most gorgeous of all he had a floppy grey fringe hanging over one eye. The Martin Kemp (Spandau Ballet) of rabbits, now I don’t remember ever being particularly attracted by Martin Kemp at the time, nor have I ever been bitten by the rabbit bug, but the combination…..

We pick the rabbit up Friday once we have sorted his new home, pet therapy is of course a recognised intervention in the health services (check Pub-Med if you don’t believe me), though I am not sure that human therapy (at least the Brown family method) is a recognised intervention for rabbits… The husband is going to have a flakey.