We went to market

Continuing on the theme of getting into trouble, Clarebear and i shoulda known we were in for it when the first photo of the day involved a dead pig scored into munchable slices, enjoying a tin-foil facial.

The writing was on that bacon-scented wall really.

Funny how sometimes you tell yourself "I am totally and definitely not going to do something stupid, argumentative, embarrassing or ridiculous today" but somewhere on the back burner you've got a feisty little inkling of trouble gnawing away at your (usually?) reasonable, sensitive self.

Fate intervenes, that terrible divil-may-care git you thought you'd knifed a decade ago decides to take over and, low and behold, 24 hours later you're stumbling through to the medicine cabinet looking for that stuff usually reserved for dehydrated babies... wondering why everything smells like dry roasted peanuts and train toilets.

The Horror. The horror.