Work experience, garden parties from HELL, stuff, the lot.

Yeah, I'm now currently working nine to five in this random pet shop in the middle of nowhere. I spent the day packaging cuttle-fish. FUNFUNFUN. Work experience. It's the law.

It was cool this morning; the chickens and ducks escaped. Hurrah.
My new friend at work spilt a sack of live meal-worms. Hurrah.
The dog food I was bagging up was infested with moths. Hurrah.
That's just TODAY.

And my feet hurt. I spent the majority of today (and yesterday, and probably will do for the next week)cleaning shelves. You know those giant dog food sacks? The 15 kilo ones? They're all stacked up around the aisles. I had to remove EACH ONE, clean the shelf, and put them back in date order. Don't get me wrong, I could have got a lot worse placements at other places, but it would be nice if some of my colleages actually talked to me once in a while.

So far so good. But what of this Garden Party From HELL?

My Mum suddenly told us that she had volunteered us to go to a charity garden party. It was one of my Mum's Morris friends.
Yes, Morris.
As in, Morris DANCERS.

Clad in bells and hankies, Mum danced around in the rain while I sat in a plastic chair, slowly dying.
And THEN came the BELLY DANCERS. Which sounds good, but then you see the one that's over sixty.

FUNFUNFUN.