I really don't know why I bother sometimes

A couple of weeks back I noticed that one of my beloved boots - a really cool pair of distressed brown leather ones with more zips and lace holes than are probably strictly necessary - was coming apart at the sole. Aside from the fact that they're awesomely cool and make wicked, authoritative clomping sounds as I stride around the office, it took me the better part of a year to actually break the bastards in (and even then I had to resort to popping some insoles in them); that being the case, I wasn't quite ready to chuck them out.

My course of action, then, consisted of this: pop the afflicted boot in a Sainsbury's carrier bag and swing by a cobblers at lunchtime.

As I was about to head out for lunch, however, a colleague asked why I was carrying a solitary boot around in a cheap plastic bag (it's not like it's the most eccentric thing I've ever done, truth be told). I told him what had happened, and he replied:

"Why don't you just use some super glue?"

I recoiled in horror, clutching the boot to my chest.

"Dear Sir!" I said, or words to that effect. "I won't be performing a slap-dash fix on this, my treasured boot! I want it done professionally."

And with that I stomped out of the office (with significantly less impressive clomps as I was wearing rubber-soled trainers at the time).

I arrived at the cobblers about 15 minutes later, and was pleased to see that there was a) no queue, and b) a very impressive stout looking gentleman wearing a leather apron waiting to serve me; his whole being said 'I know how to mend a shoe, and I'm going to mend yours.' So I took my boot out of the bag and presented it to him like it was the Holy Grail, explaining what I wanted doing.

He puzzled over the boot for a couple of seconds, then pulled the sole and upper further apart than they already were. I squeaked a bit. Then he pointed to the gap and said:

"D'ya know what you wanna do? You just wanna dab a bit of super glue in there an' hold it together - that'll do the trick."

I sighed, put my boot back in the bag, and went off to buy some super glue.

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My journey from Sparky Towers to work has been, at best, nightmarish this week. For some reason *cough* roadworks *cough* it's taking twice as long to get to work as it usually does, not helped by the fact that I seem to have lost the ability to get up on time. And so on Wednesday evening I decided to do something about it: I actually had an early(-ish) night.

And guess what? It worked - hurrah!

As I left the house Thursday morning, earlier and a little fuzzy-headed as I stepped into the morning sun, I noticed that something was a little … different. After a few seconds my attention turned towards a couple of flower pots that were outside - they had been knocked on their side. And then I noticed … IT.

IT was … I'm going to say mouse, because I don't want to say r*t. I honestly don't think it was a r*t. Anyway, this dead mouse had obviously been deposited there, or chased by a fox or one of the local cats before expiring in a dramatic fashion at my door. Either way it was disgusting, and probably explains why we call animals animals. I digress: anyway, by this time I'd locked my front door and was ready to roll. I really didn't want to unlock everything and go about disposing of a dead rat mouse.

So I did what any normal person would do in the circumstances: I left it there and merrily skipped off to work (figuratively, of course; it would take me ages to literally skip to work, and chances are I'd look a bit speshul in the process). I rationalised that I'd deal with disposing of it when I got home, but quite frankly I was hoping one of the aforementioned neighbourhood cats might get a whiff of it and carry the damn thing away somewhere.

And guess what? That's exactly what happened - hurrah for me! I think that's what you call intelligent thinking, people. Consideration for the food chain, that's what that is.

Quite frankly, though, it's just as well, because I'm pretty sure me trying to dispose of a small dead mammal would've turned out, not a bit like this, but rather EXACTLY like this.

Thank Heaven for small mercies.