Saturday, 25 October 2008

Sunday 13 January 2008

Well, my Happy New Year lasted all of nine seconds, before some numpty ruined it for me. My partner's outlived mine by a few days, but guttered and died like a candle in the way of a hairdryer before much longer.

As planned, we ventured to the pub to see in the New Year. All most festive. I had obtained private intelligence that the town Christmas tree was more unstable than in previous years and was looking forward to witnessing some entertaining injuries when the annual drunken midnight scaling of the tree took place. As the chimes of old Big Ben rang in the new year, I and my fellow revellers duly trooped out into the street. Sure enough, a couple of hardy adventurers climbed the tree, but managed to cling on, despite its violent swaying. A few seconds into the ascent, one of the heroes peeped out at his audience, spotted me standing at the edge of the crowd and, pointing, yelled


at the top of his voice in an "hilarious" comedy cockney accent. The surrounding drunken goons laughed and cheered and I noted that my partner did nothing to stop this. So that was my 2008 ruined.

A few days later, my partner managed to contract influenza - the proper, nasty version - from which she is still suffering. She is recovering but, to be honest, has yearned for death more than once over the past week or two. The nights have been particularly trying. I had to steal two-thirds of the duvet AND two pillows in order to block out the sound of her fevered, tormented wheezing. Some people can be incredibly selfish.

Barking of the duvet, I am happy to report that no fertilisation has taken place - I have escaped the confines of fatherhood yet again. I did check thoroughly (I slept inside the duvet cover the night before last - definitely no foetal presence). This generated somewhat mixed feelings. I had begun to think that it may have been rather nice to raise up some spawn, to inherit my crown when the time comes. 'Twas only a temporary thought, however. I quickly remembered Harvey - my StaffieBull former protegée. As a pup, he was a delight, who hung on my every bark, and I schooled him well. It was only a few short months, however, before he became more irritating than a little whiskery fistula - scampering around with boundless energy, asking inane questions about EVERYTHING. His head is as empty as a hermit's visitors book. I avoid him when I can.

I have not had to suffer any recent performances from the 'McFly' of the feline world since my partner and I took direct action against them. I had been enjoying the respite. HOWEVER, in the wee small hours of this morning, my ears pricked up again to the sound of whispering, scuffling and giggling. No cheeky song came my way, and I confess to feeling rather baffled. All became clearer during the day. When I returned from my morning visit to Maisie, I caught sight of a small square of paper fixed to my front door, flapping in the wind. I scuttled across the road and there, stuck to my door with a mixture of mud and spittle was the following:

It must have been up there for HOURS before I found it. I am very cross indeed. This is NOT my final word on this matter. Grrrowl.

Good night.
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