was talking to someone at the gym this morning about Palm Springs, which I loved and he hated. I said I went down so well with (went down with, not on!) the ageing population, who could obviously smell new meat in town. I reckon I could have got hitched several times over with gentlemen of a certain age (ie near-death) and probably be living the life of Reilly now. if only.
we then talked about the hotels we stayed in and realised that we had accommodation in common.
he then remembered going to the pool one morning and finding a baby rabbit drowned in the pool. as you do.
this in turn led to me remembering having to put a bunny out of its misery using nothing more than brute force and a rock when I saw it get run over in Wales (and somehow managed to get really stung by nettles in the process).
for some reason I then remembered a story I had heard about them (you know them. THEM!) finding a dead llama on the beach in Barcelona. where did it come from?
and then we discussed the lack of dead birds – how come you never see them apart from the odd squashed pigeon?
I just asked people at work about what happens to dead birds and someone announced, quite earnestly 'they go to heaven'! don't get me started.
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