Prime suspect

I was so disappointed today, like a dog getting in a car and finding the destination is the vets and not the beach, I did not know what to do with myself. I was so looking forward to a day bodging in posts and wrestling with wire mesh, bashing my thumb with an unguided hammer and generally getting muddy, battered and bruised, all so our long range chickens have a fox proof enclosure to live in. The torrential rain and low cloud meant any work outside was definitely confined to essentials like feeding and carrying in logs for the wood burner.
So instead of enjoying myself outside I had to stay indoors, in front of the wood burner and occupy myself. Luckily the 6 Nations was on, so with deep regret at the lack of progress on the chicken run I settled back to watch the games. Half time came, Italy Scotland, very close, so I stocked up the wood burner, fetched a glass of diet lemonade ( no beer the waistline wont allow it) and waited for the rugby fest to recommence. The TV screen suddenly went strange. We rarely, if ever get a good picture, but this was distinctly snowy. A blizzard. No sound. No picture. The turn it off turn it on again remedy failed to illicit 30 grown men chasing an egg shaped ball. A goat wandered past the window, leering, Maggie the prime suspect. They have a habit of biting through the hundred or so metres of co axial cable between the Aeriel aimed vaguely at a gap in the hills and the TV. Chances of finding the break in time and without losing my temper was zero.
Technology came to the rescue, the PC, I could watch it on the PC. Ha! The goats attempt to get mine had failed for once, I watched both games, I won. Which is more than can be said for England.