22nd April, 2006.

It's Pat's fault.
It started out as the usual Saturday - low on finances, where to go to amuse three kids ranging from 16 months to 8 years? Pat caught me on messenger and suggested a local Guinea Pig show. Fatal error.

Chris's last words as we went out the door were "Don't bring one home". So I didn't, we brought THREE home. American Cresteds. I'm telling him it was the kids idea and pester power. In reality they were driving me potty within five minutes of being there and I had sent the eldest two off to play in the field while I paid for the pigs (less witnesses the better, and Alfie isnt talking yet)

Anyway, by the time Chris got back from shooting we had a hutch sorted out and the pigs raced round squealing like they had never seen a human before. Chris is making comments about how his shotgun holds three cartridges so he wouldnt eve have to reload. I'm starting to get a nervous twitch. The dogs are wandering around with a "wait till your not watching" type expression.

I still blame Pat.