So I says to myself, "A night of footie on the box; the final of Euro 2012. Just the way to spend a Sunday evening alone."
A quick foray into the kitchen to grab a cold beer from the fridge and a packet of crisps (diet free of course) and a bowl of cashew nuts (unsalted) from the cupboard and back into the sitting room in time for the kick-off.
Comfortably seated I then begin the usual scramble for the remote control which, as is its wont, is never to be found just when I need it.
I try looking under the sofa and behind the cushions. Nada.
I athletically and gracefully get down on all fours to see whether it's hiding from me somewhere on the floor.
I try the study thinking perhaps I had left it there for no good reason in particular.
It's neither on my desk nor on the shelves.
The dining room? No sign.
Aaaaaargh! The remote control is now officially missing and time is ticking away.
So I retrace my steps into the kitchen thinking I might have inadvertently left it lying around on the counter while preparing my "feast" and there gazing up at me from her basket is Mrs Kipling supplementing her daily diet with the remains of her latest "toy".
Yep, my back hadn't been turned for more than a few moments, but that had been more than enough time for my five-year-old rescue Lab to do the deed.
TV remote - used, one careless owner
Mrs Kipling arrived just a couple of weeks ago.
She's another one of those sad stories of a dog dumped at the local animal shelter because a breeder no longer had any use for her.
A pedigree dog with the papers to prove it, she had spent the first four years of her life as a puppy machine but clearly hadn't been paying her way.
Not an unfamiliar story sadly.
The transition from caged kennel life via a couple of weeks at the SPA to the novelty, freedom and stimulation of a real loving home has come at a price - materially speaking.
A breed reputed to have a dustbin appetite and a "live to eat"...er philosophy, Mrs Kipling is proving herself to be a typical Lab, albeit one coping with her past and coming to terms with her present.
Just look at the "damage" after little under one month.
Two tubes of eye ointment for dogs.
Half a kitchen scourer.
A birthday card to a friend.
One gardening glove shredded.
A cloth napkin which met a similar fate.
One lowbrow book mashed (Harlan Coben actually, proving she doesn't have impeccable taste)
An incense stick holder - wooden - chewed beyond reasonable use
There's clearly no end to this gal's bizarre and varied appetite and doubtless there'll be more to come.
But patience is and remains the name of the game and a watchful eye of course to ensure that she doesn't try to down something that might do (her) real damage.
And that match?
Well, I just had to figure out how to turn the telly on and change channels manually.
I can live with that.
Mrs Kipling - strike a pose