I've sent the offending mail off.
Actually, it was a bit strange because the first mail I sent came back to me with the report that the email address had "fatal errors", whatever that's suppossed to mean.
So I sent it again and this time it arrived... I hope.
Well, Nil Desperandum, right kids?
Yesterday was spent in the hallowed halls of the origin of many a female wet dream, Ikea. We meandered through that den of Swedish iniquity for three hours! And while my wife and daughter let rip with squeals of delight at the collection of Nordic jumble they so garishly parade under the dubious label of furniture, I underwent the thousand deaths of ennui.
God, how I hate shopping.
However, I reckon that if they built a pub next door they'd make a killing. I could drop the girls off on a Saturday afternoon, watch the footy, quaff a few cool ones and then six hours later they could pour me back into the car for the drive home. We'd all be happy then as well; me with my sloshing beer belly and the girls with their yellow bags of trash.
It's a simple idea, but tinged with a modest brilliance that even Mr. Steven Hawkins would applaud.
Ah well, I survived it and that's the main thing.
However, if I had to choose between another afternoon of prolonged water torture at Ikea, or a day with a business of rabid ferets stuck down my paisley Y-fronts, well... I'd have to say...
... it'd be close.