There's several things you expect NOT to see while chilling (literally!) with a coffee outside Starbucks.
A fox in a cage is probably one of them.
And yet there it is.
According to the RSPCA lady who was lugging it down Hammersmith Road, this poor little bugger had slipped into the basement of an office block and needed a bit of a hand to get out. He looked kinda relaxed watching the world go by, and as I wasn't the only person who was asking to take his picture I think he was enjoying the attention. Whore.
What was surprising, however, was that this was the healthiest fox I've ever seen in my life. He was a young one, healthily chubby, and with a rich, red fur coat. Which makes a change to the usual foxes you see around London - thin and vermin-ridden, or smeared across two lanes of a dual carriageway.
Today hasn't all been foxes and fun, however. No, because last night I got a puncture on my car. On one hand it wasn't as bad as it could be, because I've got runflat tyres on my car so I merrily kept driving it around with a massive nail sticking out of it; on the other hand, the replacement was 160 quid. And for any overseas readers not familiar with the current exchange rate, that equates to: Ouch!
Still, have faith in the Earl 'do good things and good things will happen to you' mantra. It definitely works.
Did anyone watch the new gritty teen drama Skins on E4 last night? I did. Ish. And by 'ish' I mean that I watched the first, ooo, five minutes or so. I read an interview with the show's creator the other week, and he basically said it was something along the lines of 'the anti-O.C.' Something that wasn't quite so glossy and stylised, and was a bit more "gritty."
I'm coming to the realisation that british TV is a bit rubbish at "gritty," because when the Doctor Who producers announced Torchwood they assured us it would be gritty and it just meant boobs and swearing. And Skins is exactly the same - boobs and swearing (no unrealistic CGI monsters though). That, my friends, is the unimaginative way of doing things. I can swear. I can flash my man nips. It doesn't make me gritty, it just looks like something's amiss with Teddy Ruxpin.
What really turned me against Skins, though, was that however glossy and stylised The O.C. may be, at it's heart it uses characters we grow to empathise with and enjoy watching week after week. And that's where Skins fell flat on its face, because I couldn't give an effing damn about a group of cocky, horny and, quite frankly, horrifically unlikeable teenagers.