It is at times like this that I start yearning for my dream job; puffin counting on a remote Western Isle.
The Media: I want to be as far away from Spencer Tunick, Carla Bruni, Lady Gaga, Damian Thompson and Orange Tony as I can get.
Commerce: I'm kinda guessing I'd be a long way from crap supermarkets.
England: Oil seed rape, strimmers, people revving their car engines incessantly, all political parties which don't include the word "raving" and probably should and all political parties that do include the word "raving" and are.
If you want to know how many dead pigeons are lying in a barn after a shoot, I can estimate with staggering accuracy, and I can only assume counting living puffins isn't too different from that, so I'd be good at the job.
Puffins don't do stupid examinations and aren't "dead stressed" if they don't get straight As all the time.
I'm not very well and I'm fed up with doctors telling me I'm not very well, but that I'm a bit complex and they don't really know what to do, but "try having double cream on everything, it might stabilise your weight". I want to be in a doctor free zone...they are not helping.
Oh, and there is this. H/T Fr Stephen Wang