Not as bad as I thought it would be

Apart from having to drive three hundred miles across Wales and back again. It turns out that the three farmers I needed to collect shit from yesterday were ahead of the game. They had brought their sheep into pens previously scrubbed clean, which meant that there was plenty of fresh poo on the floor for me to pick up when I arrived.

So no fingers up the arse yesterday, which is a relief. Still, guddling around with sheep faeces is not exactly what I thought I'd be doing with my life when stepped off the podium with my honours degree in Psychology. It's a funny old world.