I’m not really going to write a lot tonight.

I have an interview tomorrow, at half past two, so I should be preparing for that. And working out how I can get through five and a half hours in the office without:-

* spilling
* drawing on myself
* sweating profusely

so that I still look as fresh at 2.30 as I did when I rolled into work at 8.

And then there’s the chance the my shoes – which normally live at work – stay at home in the morning as I set off having forgotten that I’ve brought them home to give them a once-over with the polish.

But still, all that will serve to take my mind off the actual interview itself. Which is quite handy, really.

Anyway, I’m keeping it short.

I’ll see you on the other side.


Halifax. So Good They Named It Once.

I like a good trip to Halifax.

I enjoy nipping into the town centre that I knew and loved to find that it’s strangely different and yet oddly the same. Shops that you would think would survive recessions have fallen, while shops that you have never, ever seen a person in are still there. Inexplicably.

And one shop was selling a flying drone thing that offered 360 degree eversion. Which, if my English is up to scratch means it can turn itself inside out. Whereas the picture on the box just looked like it could fly upside-down.

Ah, Halifax.

I mean, where else could you see an old man peddle slowly up a busy main road, stop, dismount his bike, nearly fall into the road, stagger his way across the road pushing his bike, and ride it back down the road again, freewheeling his way into town with a look on his face which was not one of enjoyment in any way shape or form.

Or witness a mother threatening her children by saying “Am I going to have to phone your dad and get him back from Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeds? He won’t be happy.” And I’m sure he wouldn’t be, because all the annoying one was doing was squeaking her shoes on a wet manhole cover. Not really worth phoning their dad over. And not once during the whole thing did I think, “Wow, I’m amazed you know who the dad is..” as I looked at the three incredibly different children she was carting about.

Not once.

It was at least twice.

Or an old lady sending her friend into a charity shop to buy a Catherine Cookson and not saying something sarcastic back to said friend when she was asked if she’d read that one already. I mean, I know that’s what I’m going to spend my retirement years doing – sending acquaintances into charity shops to buy battered copies of books I’ve already read.  I nipped in to see if they had any of my missing Cussler’s in there. But – and this is a first – there was not a Clive Cussler book to be seen.

That’s one of the signs of the end of days, as I understand it.

The dead rising and walking the earth and British Heart Foundation having no vaguely nautical themed action thrillers for 30p a throw.

The world is doomed.

2 Fast 2 Fur-ious

We’re still trying the deflea thing
It’s just not working out
Peppa was on top of a door
And we thought we had a shout.

But somehow she just knew
What was about to happen
So she was off the door and had gone upstairs
Before I’d got the stuff from the wrappin’

It’s really hard, with a psychic cat
To catch her when she’s unaware
I’m taking the flea stuff to bed tonight
Under the duvet, I’ll catch her there.

I mean, what could possibly go wrong
Two bodies and a cat under cover
I’ll attempt to put the flea stuff on
She’ll attack us, and we’ll be in bother.

But it needs to be done, It’s for her own good
I think she’s pro flea at the mo
So wish me luck as I sign off from her
Grab the treatment and away I will go….

You Will Never Take Our Fleadom

Trying to deflea the cat
Is like attempting to knit fog
It’s next door to impossible
It’s a terrible uphill slog.

Somehow she knows what we’re doing
Just from me opening a box
She can’t be lured with food or toys
Her love for us has turned to rocks.

But it’s for your own good
It’ll save you time with your scratching
But she looks at us with a stare tgat says,
“Just knock off those plans that you’re hatching!”

So the only thing to do is wait til she sleeps
Then creep up on her from behind
And squirt the tube right onto her neck
And retreat before she repays in kind.

She’s not the sort to bear a grudge
Ill feelings for you she won’t keep
But for a couple of days after her dose
I’ll keep one eye open to sleep.

Paw Performance

I got to witness Peppa at her defensive peak this morning.

I got to see her in action as her territory was invaded not once, but twice, by neighbourhood cats.

I got to see how she dealt with the issue of other cats meandering into her house and eating her food.

I got to see it all.

And, frankly, I’m not impressed.

She’s crap at it.

It was a lovely day today, so despite going to bed at 2am, and to sleep at 3am, I was up at just before eight and pottering around in the kitchen assembling the components for a very nice chicken curry. I had been out into the garden and pegged the washing out, I was listening to the radio, had the back door propped open. It couldn’t have been any better.

I noticed the shadow of a cat in the doorway and not long after that the sound of cat biscuits being eaten. I had, just moments before, seen Peppa on the kitchen windowsill so I assumed that the shadow and noises were down to her. So you can imagine my surprise as my gaze passed over Peppa, still on the windowsill, blissfully ignorant to the crime taking place just feet from her nose.

I moved to see who the interloper was and subsequently scared it away.

This is when Peppa stepped up her game. Having been completely clueless and next door to useless when it came to the actual home invasion, she tried to make up for it after I had removed the offending animal from the house. Basically, she hung off the windowsill and hissed a bit. It was the cat equivalent of a small kid behind a much bigger kid just poking their head out and going “Yeah!” at the backs of some retreating bullies. It was pathetic.

But, apparently, how she deals with these issues as just five minutes later a different cat pulled the same stunt and Peppa did the same hissing after the fact thing. But, I thought, this time it was improved because she jumped down from the windowsill and faced the other cat. Defending the top step of the patio. Blocking the entrance to the house.

I was very proud of her at that moment. Very proud.

She ruined it just scant moments later as, returning from whatever phase of the curry I was at, I peered out of the door to find that Peppa was vigorously guarding our garden by the act of being in next door’s garden while the cat who had helped itself to Peppa’s food was just sprawled out in the sun on our patio.

Disappointed doesn’t even come close to covering it.