The rights and the wrongs of things

Well-I don't know what's right or wrong any more really. It seems that it's perfectly acceptable for MP's to make a mockery of expenses claims, and for Caroline Flint to portray herself as a paragon of feminist virtues. So in this fluid world, it seems quite acceptable to allow a small dog to claim a plush chicken as it's toy. The only trouble is that the chicken has an in-built squeak whenever it's squeezed. It's little flippers (do chicks have flippers?) hang down pathetically out of Franck's mouth whilst he carries it round. It's a pathetic and rather worrying sight. M has only been away for four days so far and I have already managed to break the mower. it seems I have probably managed to burn out the clutch in a fit of over-exuberant mowing on the first dry spell after many days of torrential downpours. "There is no cure" M tells me mournfully over the phone. "I had a premonition this would happen". Why can't he have premonitions about useful, or jolly things? I fight back tears. i had so wanted to be able to do everything.