I couldn't find the Shooting Times in it's regular place in Tescos on Wednesday, I eventually found it behind a carefully placed copy of another magazine with the front cover sporting a picture of a very pleasant young lady with impressive attributes and a healthy willingness to share them. Being a man of morals as pure as the driven snow I resisted this suggestion, although I admired the sales technique. With some discrete shuffling I was eventually comforted by the sight of a dead rabbit in a dogs mouth - Ahh! found it at last!
Are we sometimes our own worst enemies?