Confession

There's something not quite right about a grown woman, on her hands and knees on the pavement, arse in the air, as she scrabbles madly for a broken cigarette she has spotted under the passenger seat of her car. A tad unseemly, perhaps.

Well, dear readers, this was the very sight my neighbours were treated to this morning.

Sadly, the humiliation doesn't end there.

The cigarette was damaged almost beyond repair. I say almost, as the judicious use of several acres of sellotape rendered at least two thirds of it smokable.

And smoke it I did.

I'd like to say I'll do better tomorrow. It's possible, anyway.