One dead doormouse and cheese with holes in...

There are 'words' for days like today... and they are not Jerusalem artichokes! I have just walked back from the pub. I decided when i got home that I needed a walk. I wandered down to the local pub, sorry no. I didn't wander, I paced. I have sat in the garden on my tod with my feet up on the bench and have drunk the biggest glass of white wine ever... and a bottle of water. I was waiting.. for peace to be declared? for Godot? No, for life to return to 'normal'. But, it didn't happen. As I drank there was a slight haze but nothing significant enough to warrant a reality check. So, I have walked back up the hill. All is quiet here now, not even a mouse.. because I found it as dead as a doormouse on the path outside - thank you 'Oh furry one!'. People say that cats do that because they like you but I'd rather they didn't like me. I had to ask the nice man down the hill if he had a shovel. He thought I was pretty bonkers too. I closed my eyes and just scooped where I thought the dead doormouse was, then flung it skywards over the hedge. It's okay, it will have thought it was flying! I'm now sitting writing eating cheese with holes in. What's that all about? And why are the holes round? x