Last night I noticed my good lady had picked up a tick on her calf. Only time she'd had the opportunity to pick up the tick was hanging out the washing, which is an area of lockblock paving.
Only way I can think of it getting there, unless it likes a good walk, is off of a couple of dead fledgelings that had crashed into the area - cleared away a few days earlier.
Just goes to show the little barstewards can be picked up in odd places.
On the plus side, I have green light to buy myself a new pair of rovince stalking trousers.