Andy's in town. We had a nice dinner with the kids last night, and then adjourned to the front porch for a glass of wine and some good conversation.
It was about ten minutes later that the most appalling, pungent, offensive odour entered both my and Andy's (and presumably the accompanying Canadians') nostrils. I hadn't really understood the legend of the terrible "scent" that is released by skunks. It is revolting.
So, for the next ten minutes, Andy and I sat with our noses safely enclosed in our t-shirts, somewhat gobsmacked and giggly about the fact that the accompanying Canadians continued as if this terrible funk hadn't even bumped the status quo.
Because I like to sleep with a window open - so my boudoir window is open all the time - I was smacked by a whiff of the skunkish redolence
upon my retirement.
Fun times, eh?