Working from home with the Siberian hamsters
What is the point of existence, and will Sam Taylor Wood make a decent go of Fifty Shades of Grey? What happens when we die, and when will someone invent a vegan cheese that doesn’t taste of compressed flip-flops.
It is during one such bout of chin-in-hand contemplation, eyes gazing unfocused in the direction of the garden shed, that my reverie is interrupted by something visually unexpected. What is that scurrying movement? That furry, pointy-nosed manoeuvre? What is this emerging nimbly from under the shed, sitting up and sniffing the air?