its that word again

It was such a lovely day today (and I was feeling guilty about enjoying myself on a Bank Holiday) that I went over to mum's to spend the afternoon with her. I had suggested I take her out somewhere but having had a lukewarm response to the Whitby trip (she had to walk too far, it wore her out), I decided to take our comfy picnic chairs along in case I could persuade her to sit with me in the garden. (She says she won't sit out by herself, its too lonely.) I didn't check the chairs, all folded up in their carrying bags, before setting off.

At mum's, the sitting in the garden option was mooted and accepted. I took the first chair out of it's bag. One of the legs was snapped in two. I packed it away again. I took the second chair out of it's bag. In large inky letters on one of the armrests was written 'FUCK OFF, THIS IS MY CHAIR'. Needless to say, that chair was 'broken' too and went straight back in it's bag.

So far, no-one has owned up.