Failed the Customer Service Brief

I've decided to save any Christmas goodwill for home and not waste any of it on anyone in this dump of a workplace.

Why the hissy-fit, you ask? All I can say is that it involves a complete moron, his wretched cohort of wannabe managers, and their complete insensitivity to anyone else.

Due to finish at 4pm, I swapped with a colleague so he could go and weep for his lost love (who is legging out of the country now his student visa has expired, bright lad). All I had to do was throw the moron and his mates out, and go.

They've taken the concept of time added to a new height, HALF-PAST BLOODY FIVE!!! they left. I tried to make them feel guilty then whacked them with some first-rate sarcasm, both failed. And they've trashed the room to boot, so I'm stuck here til 6-ish, and the lame excuse of 'stuck at work' won't work now.

But they've left me here with all their portfolios. Months of work, on a spare desk in the corner. Very near the shredder...

And what about Santa?

Neet, the mother mentioned in the previous post, now has another problem.

The Eldest is a lovely child, apart from the usual teenage strops. Child Dawkins is still an atheist, but it's the youngest who's causing a stir now.

He is scared Father Christmas in any shape or form.

Neet had been checking out suitable venues for his first meeting with Santa, but the nursery he attends had already sorted out a guest appearance. She arrived at nursery to find Youngest in floods of tears.

"I don't like Santor, he's 'orrible" (proper little Manc, is Youngest).

Youngest is 2, going on 15 and normally a robust and happy little soul, who missed seeing Santa last year because Neet couldn't trust him to behave in the queue. Child Dawkins tried to help him out.

"It's only someone helping, he doesn't sound anything like the real Santa."

She might not know the Voice of God, but she knows her Santa. Sounds a lot like Grandad...

That old-time religion...

is proving a bit of a problem for a colleague.

Her daughter is 5, highly intelligent and inquistive. She is also attending a Catholic school, which is a problem for a child who does not believe in God.

She's made several attempts to get her mother to 'fess up about the non-existence of God. Despairingly, the colleague pointed out she could discuss it with Father A.

Child was having none of it. "But he's bound to say God exists Mum," (icy stare to parent) "that's his job." Her opening gambit to Father A was "I'm having real issues with this." She agreed to give them all the benefit of the doubt, her friends are at the same school and she wanted to audition (!) for the Nativity play. Her mum tried to point out that it wasn't that formal, but she carried on regardless. She's a very High School Musical sort of gal.

But the new-found faith has been tested, and finished off completely. In the Nativity play, the blonde curls and general cuteness made her a strong contender for any sort of angel. She's been cast as a Christmas tree.

"I know it's important for Christmas but it's nothing to do with God, is it? Have you ever seen a singing tree in church? Trees don't sing. He doesn't exist, does he?"

I would send a bit of Richard Dawkins round for her, but she's probably read it by now.

Who ate all the pies??

No, not Ricky Hatton or Stuart Maconie...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/manchester/7142115.stm

Falling off the edge of the world...

Checked out the action over at incessant pointless barking to find Soph's piece about Terry Pratchett.

Heard this on the news this morning and my reaction was pretty much the same as hers.

Ah, but at least he said he still had time for a few more books. And in these days of Equality and Diversity, I think his agent should stick by him and publish anything he writes in his new state, to strike a blow for Alzheimers sufferers everywhere! So they'll be a bit random, so what?

Like Terry Pratchett NEVER did random...

The Works 'Do'

We had the staff away day on Monday, followed by Christmas lunch and a pub crawl.

Today, this is what our Finance Officer made top priority

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1299629285

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1299682144

And this is what happened when the boss decided against Alton Towers as a decent venue

http://www.scroogeyourself.com/?id=1301905590

Oh hummm.....

House Rules

Bailey broke the basic house rule of 'no dogs in the bedrooms'.

The Tig caught him in my room, chased him into the bathroom and beat the crap out of him.

Now he KNOWS why we tell him not to upset the cats. It's a nice scratch though, and it'll be a lovely scar. He can always tell the hard dogs that it was done by a Rottie.

The Monday Night Group

The Monday Night Group now have a shiny new website.

It was launched with a nice presentation - which I missed - in a swanky bar in Manchester. Then everyone ran off to the usual (cheap) pub and then some of us lasted long enough for silly dancing in the Fab Cafe.

Nice to know they've actually finished it, though at great cost to the sanity of those involved :)

Baby-sitting

I was conned into baby-sitting young TJ last night.

It's a shame, this child is quite delightful but it was the cheek of the move that did it for me. Just hand him to his great-grandmother, who would walk over broken glass for him, then suggest she brought him to my house for a visit.

Aw, bless... hang on, I'm still hissing fury here...sssssss.....

Still, he tried his best to be entertaining, and I am secretly convinced his first word was 'bananarama' or that daft song from the Muppets Show - was is Manomana?

Full-on charm offensive. I did point out that I was Great Aunt Don, the Mean Old Bag, but he just gurgled a bit and tried to chew his feet.

Even better, it did give me a chance to see how Bailey acted around children.

Dammit, he was good as gold.

Pesky critters, both.

Media Madness

Yes, those sterling souls at the Media Centre have been at it again.

Anna is finally escaping to early retirement, and a leaving film is required.

This one's got allegations, accusations and some suspect headgear (worn by yours truly). Am not aware of any contribution from Lal in Texas, but if she's doing the Rodeo circuit then I expect she's a bit busy.

Red carpet day is Wed 19th December 2007. No papparazzi please.

Power shift

Since the departure of Greebo, there has been a small but subtle change in the power struggle at home.

The cats are used to having an advantage, the dogs have seen a chance to catch up.

So the dogs are treating me like Queen of All I Survey and the very best leader a dog pack could have, and the cats are making it quite clear that I am One of THEM. They will waive the usual 4-legs, 9-lives rule for once.

I did point out that they are pets, there purely at my whim. They ignored me.

Still, it is nice to be popular, instead of being a human tin opener.

Bad news

Greebo's sudden weight loss was due to kidney failure and he was put to sleep at teatime.

Which meant he missed the England game.

Who said there isn't a Cat-God?

And what's YOUR problem??

I came down this morning and there was a space where Greebo should be. And my first thought was that he'd scarpered to die in peace. He'd been skipping meals and not a purry happy soul, not like him in the slightest.

Wrong!! He had just decided to leave his favourite snug place, to perch on the garden fence outside. It's bin day, and he has quite a few friends on the bin round, I think every team know him.

Can't let illness get in the way of greeting his public...so he assumed the position, and greeted ME with a scowl and a definite "What's YOUR problem?".

Apart from the fact that I thought you were dead, and was pathetically pleased to see you alive, you stupid sodding ingrate?

My problem is over-attachment to a psycho-cat, and his three mates and the dogs...

The Ageing Process

It's been a bit quiet round here, as we've all fallen prey to winter blues and colds.

But the biggest worry is Greebo. He seems chirpy enough, but he is not eating so much, and doesn't seem so sprightly as usual. He's been a bit wobbly but it was a slippy wet floor, and he DID mean to slide into the fridge, honest! And that's his story and he is sticking to it. I would've believed him, but he normally tries that trick when the fridge door is open...

The senior moment, when he walked into the garden and panicked, is very alarming. Though his story is that the recycling bins are just plain scary.

He's going onto the extra-special feeding up diet. I'm not sure where we can banish the bins...

At last!

Faye, my niece and the loveliest of the Pesky Critters, graduated from York St John with a BA in Theatre, Film and Television on Thursday 8th November 2007.

Thanks to a feeble dial-up connection, I can't post a picture yet, but I will.

Despite the fact that she is 2 decades younger than me, 5 stone lighter, eats chocolate for England and dates a tall dark handsome man who plays with Porsches for a living, I love her to bits.

Bonfire Night

It's been a bloody awful few days. My pets hate fireworks.

But a new sport has been created out of the chaos in my house.

Dog Biscuit Subbuteo.

2 small dogs versus 1 mad person. The idea is that you take one handful of dog biscuits and use the Subbuteo 'flick to kick' action to move the biscuits round the floor. Nominate a goal from any piece of suitable furniture, and try to score as many goals as possible before the dogs eat the biscuits.

The cats don't think it will catch on.

Where's Lisa?

I've not seen my friend Lisa for a wee while so I moseyed over to her blog at Frowny Baby.

It wasn't there.

I was searching for something that wasn't there. It said so, nice and clear next to the Frowny Baby.

I knew she hadn't really disappeared into a nasty dark cyberspace pit. I suspected it probably has a LOT to do with Damon messing around on it. But I suddenly felt really bereft.

One quick check on Facebook and an e-mail later, and she is unwell but confirmed as still alive!

Amazing how soon we get dependent on these things.

Name AND Shame

Scott over at 'Everbody Laughed...' sent me this.

you're going to hate me but that's okay

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama

safe for work but not for sanity (needs sound)

It's driving me nuts and I can't stop singing it.

One of our drinking team last night queried why humans have the ability to remember inane bits of song, while forgetting the really important stuff.

After hearing this, you'll know why. It's a nice little concept called 'Hell on Earth'.

We've all got a scrap of songwriting talent in us (Tom Robinson said so, and I won't argue with Tom). Where most people fall down is in trying to emulate the best thing they've ever heard.

If we all were happy to write llama songs, there would be fewer frustrated songwriters in this world. And more crap music, but what price happiness?

Llama Llama Duck.

Some of my best friends are grown-ups...

...but I don't think blogs should be used to name and shame. So I won't name the person.

Digital tellybox now has a channel called 'Dave' on the grounds that most people know someone called Dave. I can't be arsed to check their facts here, but I shall use 'Dave'.

'Dave' did a degree in a subject he liked, and was lucky enough to get a job in his chosen field. He moved through a few jobs, liked where he ended up, and even got some freelancing. Then over the years, realised that the office politics were corroding his soul, and the freelancing could just keep him above poverty level. His chances of getting the best job in the office are a few years off, and he is fairly certain that his soul and sanity can't last that long.

So he is going freelance. So far so good.

Except last night his loving friends decided to help write the resignation letter.

How many ways can you tell an employer to stick their job? We came up with loads until 'Dave' pointed out they might have future work for him.

'In the words of the Great Freddie Mercury, "I want to break free" ' as an opening line was deemed inappropriate.

At the end of the night we waved him off with a hail of "Good Luck, Dave." People outside having a fag break joined in, as it was obvious he needed all the luck he could get.

So under the influence of real ale and Queen, he went off to write his letter. Hope I get to see a draft version.

Repeat after me...

"HE IS NOT YOUR DOG AND HE ISN'T STOPPING!"

Last night Bailey managed to negotiate a flight of stairs, get into my room and tried to jump on a bed about twice his height.

He was sooooo pleased with himself, not a bad effort for a short-arse with a leg bandaged full length. And a plastic cone round his head, as modelled by Gromit in his mugshot to the left.

I have to remind myself that (A) he shouldn't have been there and (B) it was 2am and any dog with such lousy timing has no place in my house.

HE IS NOT MY DOG AND HE ISN'T STOPPING...

Quick update on the visitor

The chipped bone that the Spanish vet passed off as inconsequential is in fact a great big lump of bone that needs to be screwed back in place. Our family vet is livid that the Spanish vet let a dog travel in that condition! We've seen the x-ray and it was gruesome. Just glad we'd made an appointment for the day after he landed for a check-up. No wonder he was quiet when he met the cats. No excusing the Spanish vet but Bailey's leg wasn't misshapen, just swollen. We could have waited a while for the swelling to go down, thinking all was fine. He's not a noisy complaining sort

So Patrick the Wonder-vet is currently pinning little Bailey back together. I've every confidence in him. He had to do the same to Tig when the Ginger Git managed to slide off a roof and land on three paws and one rear hock bone. Tig still has 'Barry Sheene' as a useful alias.

Visitor

James and Angie have decided to return to the UK, due to her mum's ill health. Fine.

My mother asked if I would mind their dog. Not so fine.

Anyways-up, the mutt ended up at my house on Friday. I made it quite clear to everyone concerned that if anything happened to my cats, I would make mincemeat out of anything four-or-two-legged that I thought responsible for harming them.

What do the Reservoir Mogs do? Adopt it as one of their own! After scaring it a little, just for fun.

Poor little hound, he'd managed to hurt his leg before being crated up. So he had a suspected chipped bone in his leg, jetlag, and was missing James and Angie. He was too much of a soft target even for them.

Jasmine did spend a bit of time looking like an outraged Furby, and Tig came down to wail a bit (and take a crafty swipe at poor Bailey at the same time). Greebo couldn't give a flying f...root loop about any of it.

Eric, as ever, was the star. From a lofty position on the kitchen workshop he made eye contact with the dog, stood on tiptoe and fluffed up to double size ALL IN COMPLETE AND VERY SCARY SILENCE. Poor dog was terrified. After that Eric ignored the new yapping peasant all night.

Gromit thought it was great to have another dog around. So Bailey is staying until James and Angie find somewhere to rent that will take him too. I think he's going to be around for a while...

Fireworks

It's that time of year that most pet owners hate. Some people have pets that stay oblivious to fireworks. Indeed, we had a bearded collie who used to sit in the garden and watch them.

My lot hate them. So we are now moving all the furniture to create hidey-holes for scaredy-cats.

Last night though, we had a family hug-in, all the pets huddled on the sofa to take advantage of the situation. No photo unfortunately - I was trapped between Tig and Gromit and couldn't move.

So far we have dark places to hide, radios on standby, a plug-in thing from the vet that is supposed to calm them down. Hope it all works...

The Accidental Brunette

Due to a slight misinterpretation of what 'Dark Golden Auburn' means, I am now a temporary brunette. It didn't look this dark on the box! Golden is well...gold, auburn is red and I took 'dark' to mean 'not Bonnie Langford'.

In the old Hollywood classics, the redheads were mostly ditzy and the brunettes were more intelligent and classy. As a fledgling brunette, I am suffering somewhat. This is going to be sodding hard work. Don't think it will last. Not with blonde eyelashes and eyebrows at any rate.

As the colleagues have kindly pointed out, it is a dark red. Not bad at all for winter plumage. And I can still lose my temper - just have to do it in an intelligent, classy and dark way.

As a black cat, Eric sees it as a good thing and has been my bezzie mate all week. He's 11 years old so he's seen it all before. Ginger Tig just keeps giving me puzzled looks, I've sold out from my ginger roots in all senses of the word. Jasmine and Greebo have seen that it doesn't affect the cat-feeding skills, and are not passing comment.

The New Kid on the Block

Little TJ is in the UK on a flying visit. Granny Karen has been in hospital, so Angie brought him over on Friday. James can't come over, not enough holidays accrued. So he's still basking in the sunshine, enjoying the quiet.

TJ is gorgeous, but my big sis Lyn doesn't approve of the idea of posting photos of him on the web so you'll have to take my word for it. She is still undecided as to whether she is a Gran, Granny, Nana or whatever. "Unfortunate Mother of James the Git" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue either.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of a troll. It's not too far off the truth....

Man 'flu

In the interests of equality and all that, I've decided to turn my mild sniffly cold into a full case of man'flu.

Need...lucozade....nooooowwwwwww

Then just hand over the duvet, the remote and the paracetamol and bugger off.

Second toughest in the Infants

Here's the sort of fine establishment I work for!

We share facilities with another department, one person worked for both departments (paid by them; she preferred being with us!). She left two months ago.

Our merry little band was told to put our heads together and think up some new working practices, now there was one less person around.

We did. More fool us.

A few changes were made and approved, but while someone from the other department was on holiday. She came back, went ballistic, and trapped my manager at her desk, screaming and yelling about the changes. Talk about invasion of personal space! Like Dubya spotting an oil opportunity. If this individual had treated me like that, I would have whacked her between the eyes with a stapler, which is why I'm not in a management post. My manager stayed calm, but requested a meeting to sort it all out.

A meeting was called.

This person (who is nothing to do with us) turned the whole thing into a verbal personal assault on our manager, who left the meeting in tears, whilst our Head of Department and Project Manager sat by and let it happen. They chose not to mention that they had seen the changes, approved them and had done so with the agreement of the other HoD...

Both HoDs have come up with a new plan, but when our manager asked if we could be included in any discussions, she was told that if she didn't agree to all changes without question then it would become a disciplinary matter. And so concluded over a week of bullying for my poor boss.

So, that's what you get for working as a team, being resourceful and trying to improve your workplace. For doing the job she was supposed to do, a bright and competent manager has been reduced to a snivelling wreck on a disciplinary charge. While we are feeling like the lowest of the pond life, and the person who instigated the whole thing is off scott free and smelling of roses.

All the fun of the fair

Gromit has a new game.

I own a wonderful chair that belonged to my Auntie Alma. It is the most comfortable thing, managing to both rock and spin at the same time. Placed next to the fire, it is the best place to be on a cold Autumn evening.

So I believe; the cats have commandeered it.

Whilst playing a lively game of 'Fetch', Gromit ran into the chair and made it spin round, much to the fury of Jasmine. I know we shouldn't have laughed, but it was stupid and funny.

So now Gromit headbutts the chair whenever he passes, leaving the encumbent cat spinning like a nervous kid on the waltzers, too dizzy to retaliate.

Strangely, Greebo seems to enjoy it...

It explains a lot...

Watching "Heroes" last night with the Reservoir Mogs, they suddenly appeared to wake up and take notice.

I realised that the magic word was "invisible".

It is now obvious that all the damage in my house has been caused by an invisible cat, and they take all the blame.

Given their ability to suddenly appear in the strangest of places, at equally strange times, I figure they had this invisibility thing sussed years ago.

Gromit has not yet started to blame the invisible dog for anything. I can't decide if he has too much integrity, or is just too thick to find a scapegoat.

Kinky Ninja Spy Giraffes

The Monday Night Group are relaunching their website. Rousie set them the task of coming up with some good quotes, to draw people in.

I remember the last time this happened.

Twenty-odd drunks at varying stages of talent and inebriation, loads of daft ideas, and some of them printable.

Last night? This time, only five were present. Tumbleweed silence, as they realised that only printable and ad-agency ready soundbites would do.

To break the silence, Mike recounted a story from another MiNGe member, who attends a group who keep folk tales and urban myths alive. They also use it as an excuse to tell lame jokes. The punchline was delivered, and someone seemed surprised that he hadn't altered it. The phrase "kinky ninja spy giraffe" was definitely uttered.

Ros came up with a corker! "Last time she had a dinner party with the warlords, something was said and there were tanks on the lawn, next morning."

But she is off to the Ivory Coast next week, so it was an observation about something else entirely. But she did say it as part of the MNG, on MNG-pub time, so surely it's acceptable?

And besides, it is only a matter of time before someone here has a tank on the lawn. Amazing what an anorak can find on eBay.

They struggled on, it's hell having to turn into instant copy writers (they assured me; I carried on drinking and trying to look supportive) but they only scored 3/10 from Rousie.

I added "I only came back to find out what happened to the kinky ninja spy giraffe."

And left.

Enough to make you climb the walls...

After Scott's valiant attempt at scaling the chimney breast in the Lass O'Gowrie, we were due another attempt. Maybe this time along the side of the shelves, via the tricky bric-a-brac.

And try saying that after a dab of Rioja.

However Scott managed to drop a box of books on his foot, Lisa's bank balance is recovering from a nice trip away, and Damon was otherwise engaged. I think he was planning to get hair extensions, just in case the 'longest hair contest' started again. The others just replied with a sensible "Not this week, thanks."

I've realised that this was probably all for the good, as our best pubs are all in the area covered by the campus for MMU and University of Manchester. And the Halls of Residence...all the little freshers will be out, the corridor pub-crawl in full swarm. Even if we scare them out of our best venues, they will be blocking the pavements and the cashpoints. And can't wait for the student vs local chav puking contests :(

Yes, I'm ageist. Don't care.

I'm heading out of town, hopefully to have a nice meal in a student-free suburb. It's a combined birthday do for friend Steve, and someone I've never met (or don't remember). I accepted without finding out who else was going, so it could be the best laugh or a complete nightmare. Hopefully the former.

I'm sure someone will end up climbing the walls by the end of the night. Tequila shots all round, chaps?

One for the geeks, and the cats!

Place your orders now, for Xmas!

Percy

Freshers Week

I am not alone in my views on Freshers Week.

Lisa works just across the road, and submitted this earlier.

She writes better than me! I just grumble. But here's an example of the irritating little ******** on the hoof.

Waiting at traffic lights, lights on green, traffic coming:

"Hey dudes, let's cross the road."

Saddoes, does anyone say dude anymore, I mean if they are under 30? You all look at least 12 years old, broaden your vocabulary! And please feel free to walk into oncoming traffic, unless we are still waiting for you to pay your fees.

They troll across in a little gang, yelling and screaming. Copping the scornful looks from the older students:

"Are you looking at us because we're lesbians?"

Lesbians?? In Manchester?? How novel! Bloody 'ell, what next? Elektrickery, and dogs that aren't whippets??

They go off on a long discussion about the collective noun for lesbians, a word that has to be delivered at highest volume. I feel deeply sorry for the staff of Vanilla. It's a fair bet they've been mentioned in the Freshers Guide.

At some point they dodge round me, and suddenly I feel amused, and sorry. The haircuts are right, as are the facial piercings, but they all look too new. They've legged it into Rambo's the minute they've realised they won't see Ma and Pa til Xmas. The outfits are, again, acceptable but too new. Right up to last week, they were the podgy boring swotty kids, who've made the grades, accepted the offer and run away to re-invent themselves. They truly think that the bravado, being pierced and gay is the best way to upset their parents, it's worth the fresh bright-pink wounds they sport. And how can money spent in Affleck's ever be a waste?

They just want someone to be shocked by them. They are in completely the wrong city.

Work E-mails

We have a standard e-mail account at work, this morning it was my turn to check first thing.

So far I have been offered;

Software
Pharmaceuticals (American)
Pharmaceuticals (Canadian)
An amazing business loan deal without a credit check
An equally amazing offer to be the business bank account for an Indian textile firm

And finally, the opportunity to pose as the relative of a German who died in the Concorde crash near Paris, to get US$14m out of Ghana!

Where will I get time to do my job, with all these fantastic offers on the table? :)

Negotiation, a la Greebo

Don't get me wrong, I love Greebo dearly but he is a weird cat. He doesn't approach problems in the same way the others do.

Like this morning. Normally, he's a very outdoors sort. He's not given to joining in the territorial battle for any cosy areas in my house. But early this morning Manchester decided to go a bit chilly so he joined in the scrap for the bedroom.

Not by staking a place on the top of the bed, that is too obvious in GreeboWorld. He did it by going under the duvet, burrowing underneath Tig then standing up (still under duvet!) to knock Tig over the edge onto the floor. Then stayed there purring away quite happily, while Tig tried to work out what had hit him.

As Tig is the original Nice-but-Dim, this could take a while.

Awwwww.....can I have one?

Think it would make a smashing addition to the Pesky Critters!



Skunk kicks up stink at nightclub

Catbook

I can't be bothered doing Catbook entries for the Mogs just yet, but here are some facts about them.

Tig likes to sit with his front paws in the water bowl

Eric likes Baileys ice cream, and smelly blue cheese

Greebo likes to make a fuss of Jehovah's Witnesses on Sunday morning

Jasmine is terrified of sneezing people

So if anyone wants any of the weirdos, just let me know!

Winehouse Appreciation Day, part 2

After our silly AWAD, I went for a drink with Scott, Lisa and Damon. Civilised grown-up company and all that. Because we are at heart grown-up and civilised, yes?

Errrm....

We started in the Salutation (I can remember when it was all fields round 'ere, mate!) and we were quite sedate - news, work, househunting,mortgages, blahblahblah. Until we realised the cigarette machine at the other end of the bar was the jukebox :) Conversation deteriorated as the music improved, and fed said jukebox until we had the good idea of moving to the Lass O'Gowrie.

I can't remember at which point we started the 'Longest Hair Contest'. Definitely several pints in. Mostly in honour of the lovely purry Elvis. The measuring point was nipple-length, excluding Damon and myself right off. I think Lisa won, though Scott might have reason to believe it was a draw. Bloody hippies! No, D and I are not bitter losers at all :(

Pity the poor live music act - shoved at the end of the pub near the toilets, all the tables nearby packed with the tone-deaf and terminally ignorant. We couldn't get near. We tried to listen appreciatively from the snug, until Damon spotted some geek book on the highest of the obligatory bookshelves. Cue Scott's epic climb up the tricky South-West face of the chimney breast, and much geeky muttering from S and D from this point on.

I ended up running for the bus. I thought I'd given up this sort of nonsense long ago, but it was waiting at the lights and I didn't fancy waiting for a pricey cab, so I went for it.

Want to regain that youthful vigour? Beer really does work best. I went straight back to college stupidity, and it was much more fun than it should have been...

Winehouse Appreciation Day

We are having a Winehouse Appreciation Day at work.

Due to the stringent policies on alcohol and drugs in the workplace, it might be a bit muted.

We can't stretch the budget to Class A drugs but we might manage to sneak a swift half at lunchtime, vodka obviously! Em and Rach are the only ones with hair long enough to backcomb: the rest of us will have to be very creative with flipchart pens.

We are back to being full-time wage drones next week, so it's our last chance for any fun. And it beats any of the stupid exercises on the official staff awayday.

Team BlueFaye vs The Shadow

Blue, of The Reservoir Mogs (Salford Posse) is on the warpath.

Young Shadow, the little cat from next door, has moved from the garden to a full assault on the house. He is determined to be a resident. Pumphrey is a nice-guy cat, and won't fight him off. Same for Red, she is acting way too prissy for a scrap.

So it is left to young Blue to uphold the honour of the Posse. At a mere whiff of the enemy, the hackles go up. Catch a glimpse, and she is the ultimate spitting & fighting fury! And she has an ally.

Faye, now back from Mexico, doesn't like Shadow. In her eyes, he's a little upstart. He did try to leap in her lap while she was eating, then spent some time biting her feet. She feels this is only acceptable behaviour from the family cats. He is too young and stupid to realise that this is not good etiquette. He tries to make up for it by providing her with dead things. Would she like more mice, or maybe a pigeon? He has plans for a squirrel, but he needs to work on his technique.

Alas, the answer is no. He's never going to be allowed in the Posse. Faye loves her cats best, and he should remember where he lives. And Blue watches it all, and remembers why Faye is her favourite family member.

Typical!

Last night we had a bit of a family gathering, as my cousin Gail was in Manchester for a few days. She's travelling from Vancouver to see friends in France, and we've not seen her for years.

So we round up the main Pesky Two Legged Critters, and head off. With a camera...

It just never occurred to us, that we should actually use it! We were having too much fun eating, gossiping, drinking too much and the rest. And there were at least 7 choruses of 'Happy Birthday' for other parties in the restaurant. So of course we joined in! Nothing wrong in making people feel appreciated :)

Or at least for the first 3...

My sister said the record was 13, but think I would've lost the will to live on that night! I think that was probably a works Xmas Lunch that finished about midnight, to fit so many in.

Eating too much, singing and a good night's sleep to follow. I think young Elvis would have approved.

Elvis (Southern Chapter)

One of the Reservoir Mogs (Southern Chapter) is no longer with us.

Elvis did a sterling job as a Reservoir Mog.

He would frequently treat Sophie and Scott to the delights of mouse, frog, bits of kebab, spam (don't ask how he got that) and what looked like someone's barbeque chicken. In fact, anything he could drag through the cat-flap. There was an incident with a small child and some ice-cream, but she didn't get stuck in the cat-flap so no harm done!

He liked to think he was providing a varied diet, though he never got the hang of the fact they were veggie, and he would have done better to dig up an allotment.

He would let them share the bed and sofas, as long as they didn't want too much space. And he was always a perfect gentleman to visiting cat-sitters. He liked the can openers with opposable thumbs and a comfy lap

Elvis has left the kitchen and Eulogy for a moggy

Texas

My friend and colleague Lalita has always wanted to live in Texas.

She was going to move last year, but her youngest son flatly refused to do High School - he wanted 'A' levels and so they stayed put. But now, there's been a change of plan and Lalita and her hubby are off to Texas on September 12th.

Cue scenes of great grieving in our office! We are going to miss her like mad, and this week has just been a complete washout, workwise. The man-size box of tissues on my desk is nearly empty, her desk is covered with cards (plus a fluffy pink elephant and a box of Ferrero Rocher - they make great talking points at rodeos).

Lal has been part of the team for 6 years, so everyone is feeling pretty down. She's always been the really sweet one, good at her job and general all-round good sort.

The upside to this has been the Media Centre compilation DVD. It's a bit of a tradition, if you leave the Media Centre then they will produce a DVD full of in-jokes and much piss-taking.

Eddie (Head of Unit) had his Edwardian spoof, which involves the Queen, Michael Palin-style travel and...er...trifle, and previous works included the shameless rip-off 'Little Media' and the Crimewatch spoof ("vegetarian" exposed as meat dealer, pushing Bovril to the students in the editing suites). They had less warning for Lal, and she would have been very embarrassed, so they concentrated on a lovely "Wanted" poster instead.

So now we are all putting on the smiley faces, making the jokes and wondering how we feel when we roll in on Monday and Lal isn't here to greet us.

What's the carbon footprint on a flight to Texas?

I'm phoning the Cats Protection League...

to see if they want to do a swap. Tiger (the Ginger Git) has developed a new way to torment me. It involves waiting until I'm asleep, then either biting/sticking a claw in my nose. Once awake, I get one more bite, just to make sure I've felt pain, then he goes back to sleep.

4am this morning!! 4am! He didn't even have the excuse of the earthquake. I've had my nose pierced, thanks, and once is enough. Especially as done by a vicious cat with hygiene issues.

The others have all been suspiciously quiet recently. I suppose I should be grateful they now have the psycho days on some sort of rota. But I'm not.

Maybe he's heard about the extra on Facebook - Catbook. Yes, profile your cat!

He'll get more than a profile, if he doesn't start behaving soon...

That didn't last long...

The baby niece had left Mahahual, not Playa del Carmen.

Mahahual was a very lovely little village. Note the word was - parts of it are now ever so slightly trashed.

Read the report here.

Huge sigh of relief

My niece has shown wonderful sense and maturity, and legged it from Playa del Carmen before Hurricane Dean hits.

At least one of the two-legged pesky critters has the sense it was born with.

Friday 10 August 2007

Manchester had an earthquake. Okay, a baby tremor but it was a slow news day until Tony Wilson died.

The events are not thought to be linked.

Facebook

Dilemma:

They've all gone mad on Facebook here. I love some of my colleagues to bits, but would happily poison the rest.

Thanks to Jills and Sophie, I'm on Facebook ( though I can't be arsed updating it often).

By adding my colleagues, I can widen my network, but will have to surrender the place where I whinge about work, to my mates.

Hhhhuuuuummmmmm. This is tricky.

A fine addition to the Pesky Critters

My sister's new house is next to a garden with a beautiful old beech tree. Two brilliant psycho-squirrels live in it. They throw things out of the tree at passers-by - their strike rate is so good, I don't believe it is accidental. Although her roof has just been fixed, and they can't get in to cause damage, Big Sis is already looking for roast squirrel recipes. They are way too bright to come down to a level where they might be caught, she could be waiting for quite a while...

In fact,I think they are safe for a bit. This is the woman who threatened her farming neighbour with all sorts of personal injury, should he just 'happen to accidentally' harm her adopted fox, at the last house.

"Wouldn't it be nice, to get on wiv me neighbours..."

On Monday the Monday Night Group (clue's in the name) got together to write, drink beer and talk rubbish. Several ex-writers and their drinking support team ducked the writing bit and went straight to the pub. As usual, we warmed up with "What've you been up to?", before heading for the stupid stuff. Even trained professionals need to warm up.

My mate Paul and I were comparing Sunday evening. I had visited my brother, Paul had spent a quiet night at home. I was describing the Sunday night cat-fight at my brother's house. Paul knows all about the Reservoir Mogs and their sidekicks (Southern Chapter and the Salford posse). The Salford Posse belong to my brother - Red, Blue and Pumphrey and they are suffering. Next door have acquired a kitten (young Shadow) and he is trying to take over the garden. Red is staying out of the scrap, Blue is fighting her corner in a real death-or-glory struggle, and Pumphrey is just heading for a nervous breakdown. Blue can't really fight for long, so she saved her energy for a short but spectacular attack, spoilt only by the fact that Shadow danced off, oblivious, to chase a squirrel.

Paul's verdict? "Put a Pink Floyd soundtrack on that, and you've still got more action than a whole series of Heartbeat."

Basking Sharks

Last year, I spent my birthday in a small fishing boat off the South Cornwall coast, watching basking sharks. They were beautiful peaceful creatures, and it was one of the best experiences of my life, to see them so close to our boat.

Now, The Sun is telling me that I was actually in mortal peril, as it was bound to be a Great White, pretending to be veggie to lure us over the side....

The best thing about that newspaper is the highly absorbent nature of it, when used to line cat-litter trays! Has anyone asked the hardline surfer types which would they prefer; to see a Great White, or surf through the blood & guts being poured in the water, by big-game fishing boats out to trap it? I'd be curious to find out - I know about Surfers Against Sewage, but never checked their policy on offal.

If it is a Great White, it is welcome to as many panicking tourists as it can eat... And if it turns out to be the regular basking sharks, what a waste of time offering fish/meat offerings to veggies!

Cambridge Folk Festival

Was great!

Weather - rained enough to justify wellies on the Thursday, surprisingly nice until around 9.30pm Saturday, then lots of rain overnight to spoil the planned post-music shenanigans :( Musically, well what would you expect of a festival that combined Joan Baez, the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain, and Toots and the Maytals???

Go to www.cambridgefolkfestival.co.uk for full reports - I'm still trying to get it all into some sort of order at the mo, and as usual have no photos to show for it...

Mad Great Aunt Donna... it's now official

The latest pesky critter has arrived at last.

Tyler James Laffin (or James Tyler Laffin, depending on who you ask) was born at 3.18am local time, Southern Spain on 21 July 2007. His knackered and non-metric father mumbled something about him weighing in at 4000 kilos (ooooowwwwwccccchhhh), but a more sensible friend thought he was more likely 6-7lb. We could wait a long time for the accurate figures!

Apparently he is blond, cute and has his mother's ears. A real blessing, his father has very big ears, with amazingly selective hearing for things that size....

R S McColl in profit warning...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/north_east/6907994.stm

They are lucky. Polperro pigeons try to shove small children down the slipway, cause chaos on bin day and steal food from your table. Just beware of the beer garden at the Three Pilchards, the tables at the Tea Clipper, and be very careful where you choose to eat your chips...

the best laid plans of mice and men...

... are all in a filing cabinet somewhere.

I went to Spain to see my nephew & his girlfriend, and hopefully meet their new baby (due 8 July). I got to see Elvis Costello instead.

BARGAIN!!!!!

Angela was being a stroppy hormonal nightmare, James just opted for stroppy nightmare. Now I had travelled over with my mum, to do the family thing of greeting the baby, and expected to be on hand to help sort things out ; but although they asked us to stay, it soon became clear we were asked solely to clean up, and walk the dogs. They didn't even have the grace to ask nicely! The dogs were lovely, which is why I lasted 3 days. Mum was furious with them, and their lack of preparation and it ended in a massive argument, so in the end we did the sensible thing and found somewhere better.

Thus the big family event became a 4-day city break in Malaga. Had a very happy time wandering round, lots of stuff to see but we just enjoying the scenery and the sunshine. Average temperature around 33-34 degrees C. In the hotel foyer, I found a flyer for the Malaga Music Festival Terral 2007. Elvis Costello and Mink DeVille were playing on the 14th July at Playa del Peñon del Cuervo.

I don't speak Spanish, and have never visited Spain. The concert started 10pm Saturday and I had to fly back Sunday. So with absolutely no idea of how to find my way round or ask for help, I set off.

It was ace! Special bus service to venue cost 1 euro, it was just up the road on the coast*. I will post a few piccies, if the camera phone pictures are good enough. It was the perfect warm-up to the Cambridge Folk festival ** .

Mink DeVille played at least 90 mins, typically Spanish no one checked to see if they started on time. Elvis Costello and Allen Toussaint, Steve Nieve and some excellent New Orleans brass players, were just superb. It was a terrific mix of Costello and Toussaint songs but missed out Oliver's Army. This caused great anguish to the lady next to me, who clearly regretted this decision. Though how could she whinge? There wasn't a duff song in there, no cheap fillers or dodgy timewasting solos.

Finally got in at 3am, no news of the baby. The little blighter is showing no signs of moving. He's giving the occasional kick and wriggle so we know he's ok, and the heartbeat is good and strong. But he's determined to stay put for a while.

But I still think Elvis Costello was a better deal than the child. At least EC turned up...

* Sophie, think Castlefield with seaside
** 23 degrees C at 2.30am, in fact, how's that for warm?

So now the serious in-fighting about names has started, and it's getting nasty!
Considering that the latest pesky critter has been on the horizon for months, James and Angie are no nearer deciding on a name for their baby. All the usual factors have been thrown in the mix - he can't be named after so-and-so, or the name is too traditional/modern/just downright weird.

Some weird names work. But although I have weird names for pets, I can't see the reasoning behind lumping another person with a stupid name because the parents want to be different. Why don't they give the kids straightforward names and change their own by deed poll?
The good old baptism gets around this difficulty nicely. One of my pals from years back, he became a Christian, ostensibly because he had found God whilst seriously ill. He phoned to say that he was going to change his name to Paul. Well done, thought I, Paul on the road to Damascus and all that. How wrong was I? Very! He chose the name because... oh dearohdeary...he'd always admired Paul McCartney.

Another friend from that time pointed out that "happy-clappy crappy Christian bands always needed more musicians, fine way to be a talentless big fish in a small pond." But then, this was the one who was a vicar's son and had some awful memories of modernised church sermons, so we allowed him to rant a bit. We also had a Catholic friend who chose Francis. His mum was delighted until he 'fessed up that it was chosen because of Francis Rossi.

The baby niece (now 23) was a little ratbag on the subject of names when she was younger. One useful embarrassing story is the time when her poor father was trying to make her behave in M&S. Four years old, Faye had decided to change her name by the useful trick of refusing to answer to her own. My sister-in-law and their two sons had wandered off, and Faye responded to my brother's calls by shouting out "WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME FAYE? MY NAME IS VANESSA, YOU'RE NASTY TO ME AND I WANT MY MUM!" As the security guards descended around the would-be child abductor, she nipped round a stand and found her mum, and decided not to mention Daddy's little problem. He was finally rescued, and bears no grudge. Idiot! I'd have ceremoniously burnt all the Sylvanian Family toys and My Little Pony, before doing a Tracy Barlow and locking her in her bedroom for 15 years!

5 days into old age...

and I've thoroughly enjoyed it so far. Thankies to everyone who sent cards/e-cards/booze/all of them to be on the safe side! If life could carry on like this, I'd be well happy. Here's how it panned out so far.

Friday - indulgence day, ending with a family night, so we could all celebrate with the niece before she headed off for Mexico the next day.
Saturday - spent charging around like a lunatic with the big sis, before heading for a good pub (after watching Dr Who, obviously)
Sunday - nursing a mild hangover with a trip to La Tasca
Monday - working day, but with less bitching than usual (not from colleagues - we are are customer service team, and the blighters do make it hard to be polite sometimes)


I keep being drawn to the old-bag skincare aisle - which in some cases starts age 25. And wondering if I should look at the mortgage again. And this great-auntie thing is looming on the horizon. But I am now really excited at the thought of the trip. Especially as the weather forecast there is sunny, sunny all the way!


There's a reunion planned, all of us who used to frequent a rock pub are getting our sad old arses along to a big night out on 21 July. So for one night we are all going to bop around our zimmers, revisit our fashion disasters and I'll be flaunting the sunburn - yay! Follow that up with a trip to the Cambridge Folk Festival, and I can avoid any serious mature behaviour til September.

Growing older is one thing, but I'm damned sure growing up is optional.

it's the last day of being 42

and 43 sounds a bit old and past it.

So to 'celebrate' the birthday tomorrow, we've just had a day of eating too much cake, being juvenile and scaring the younger members of staff. Perfect working day, really! But we got the work done and didn't scare the visitors, so no one can complain. Well, not unless they want to wear the remains of the tiramisu... and who would be to blame for throwing it? I'm not the only Tiswas fan in the office.

I've been really good about not opening my presents so far. Mostly because they've been thoughtfully wrapped so's I can guess the contents. Thanks to Sophie & Scott, and Anita, I may have to start drinking around 10am tomorrow. Seems a bit early to get out of bed on my birthday though, so maybe it can wait til lunchtime. My family have refused point-blank to hand over anything until tomorrow evening. I have a reputation for being totally unable to resist opening stuff early, that they won't let me live down.

Don't they know I'm older and wiser ;)

e-mail etiquette

This is one reason why you shouldn't open up personal e-mails at work.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/6234290.stm

DNA testing sporrans at football matches?? Tsk tsk. Had to show it to the colleagues, they could hear the stifled hysterical laughter and none of our courses are that funny. So I had to come clean.

Another daft thing to do is to open family e-mail, discover a really interesting web address (http://www.ihrivieramaya.com/) and spend 15 mins showing photos to your boss because you are ssoooooooooooo excited about someone else's holiday. But the baby niece is off to Mexico, and I just had to do the dutiful auntie thing and check the venue out.

Intense Spanish and Diving? So proud that she chose the frankly insane option instead of learning to cook or dance.

Today I don't feel constructive or useful or any of those good team qualities we are supposed to have. I'm feeling old, stroppy, jealous and bored. Still, when I'm in this mood, I don't argue about my turn to put lunch out or change water bottles. I seek out the mundane stuff, because quite frankly the polite customer service stuff ain't never gonna happen!

Must dash, got to search for a trunk big enough to ship me out to Playa del Carmen, try to get a week in before the Spanish trip!

bit of a catch-up

Our racing pigeon has now been caught, sent home and is recovering in the coop with a copy of the AA guide to Great Britain.

Stop that Pigeon!

We're having fun with the winged critters at the moment.

A knackered racing pigeon took refuge on my neighbour's roof last week. Despite the best advice from the racing websites, Lily is feeding it like some wayward pet. If you just give them enough food and water to recover, they fly home. But Lily has been doting on it, and it is showing no sign of leaving. Lily is 86, never loses an argument, and knows everything in the world ever - if she says it needs a fuss from a complete stranger who knows bugger-all about pigeons, then that is what it will get.

Some poor sod released a racing pigeon - they'll have to bring a big van to collect the racing turkey, at this rate! All attempts at catching the little blighter have failed miserably and I don't really want to send the cats round to sort it. Lily is calling my Mum at some strange times because Rosie is good with critters. Mum gets this hunted look now, when the phone rings.

Where are Dastardly and Muttley when you need them? Mind you, I seem to recall they didn't get their pigeon either. Lily is enjoying all the fuss too. She has 3 fine strapping lads, and grandkids galore - but they're never around to do this sort of thing, or tidy her garden or take her down to the shops. Their speciality is the big showboat gesture. If the owner decided to leave the racing turkey behind with her, the kids would turn up with a gold-plated coop (or something equally daft) but would never dream of mucking it out.

Ron (next door) has christened it Walter, I've nicknamed it Mr Duckworth, and the cats are calling it next week's lunch...

anniversary time

There seems to be a lot of this around at the moment, so here goes.

Yes, I do remember the first UK realease of 'Star Wars', queued round the block with my Mum and it was ruined by the idiot in front smoking a cigar. It looked so much better second time round, without the fog.

Yes, I do remember the Sex Pistols and the fuss about 'God Save the Queen'. Been watching them on Tony Wilson's 'So It Goes' for a while. But with all the will (and hair gel) in the world, waist length hair won't stay in a mohican for long - and I bloody well wasn't going to cut it!

TISWAS! I was definitely a Magpie and Tiswas kid. Although I knew I'd never grow up to be as fit as Sally James, I still dream that one day I will be able to throw a mean custard pie and walk in heels that high.

And two sadder ones.

The Falklands. Aged 17, watching the news. Meeting the 1st Great Love of My Life at this time. In retrospect, should have realised that, when he didn't appear to bother with current affairs, he was not the one for me. Very bright lad, but computer-and-self obsessed. But he was quite fit for a geek (!) and I didn't fancy him for his computing skills! It says a LOT for Scott and Jill that I became friends with them despite their computing backgrounds! My tekkie-phobia has deep and dark roots :)

Tony Blair as PM. So ding, dong the Tory witches were dead, I finally saw a Labour parliament voted in, and let the good times roll! I watched the election at my friend Eleanor's house, dog-sitting while she was on holiday. She died 10 years ago this week, and I still think of her. Would have been a much better world if we'd had Eleanor for 10 years instead...

i feel so organised...

The big trip to Spain is now finally planned. Cat-sitter booked, big sister doing security (and she is FIERCE; set my burglar alarm off at your peril!), Gromit off for a nice week at a canine holiday camp. I decided against Alcatraz for him, he didn't mean to bite the postman, it just looked like postie was hiding behind the wheelie-bin and Gromit is an easy dog to confuse...

I have flights, accommodation and know what I'm packing. Keep looking at the Lilypie ticker and counting off the days. In Spain, Jay and Angie are trying to be calm but the thought of never having a decent night's sleep EVER has got to them; and they live near a very noisy Irish bar, so they are used to noise. I'm planning to head for that bar whenever there's a nappy to be changed. Very churlish to go all that way and not toast the child!

canadian grand prix, june 07

I know all the arguments against Grand Prix. It's obscenely expensive, bad for the environment and normally dull as ditchwater.

But at least in the Canadian Grand Prix you get a bit of action! Four jolly jaunts out for the safety car! More people whacking into the Wall of Champions! Or should that be the Wall of Dented Egos? Discuss, while sending get well vibes to young Kubica and his broken leg.

And Lewis Hamilton won :)

One of the ex-Reservoir Mogs, Kingsbridge, was really good at recognising which engines were about to blow up. He would sit near the tv, purring at everything but if his ears went back and he snarled, something would be off in heap in the next 30 seconds. Had an excellent success rate, but we never found a way to make him profitable. Should've taken him to Ron Dennis and offered to save him a fortune...

i've learnt to avoid hens...

I like to think I can multi-task. But maybe choosing to check the bank account online, while eating and trying to watch Dr Who was a step too far. I heard some line that sounded like " can boil an egg at 30 paces...whether you want to or not... i've learned to avoid hens..." and nearly fell off the chair laughing! By the time I stopped giggling and calmed the dog down (he joins in mad moments by barking like a lunatic and wouldn't shut up) I remembered to check the bank details. It appears that my bank has lost the flight and accommodation money I deposited this morning :( Hopefully it will show up soon, or I'm travelling to Spain hidden in the boot of a friend's car. Nice to have a Plan B.

At least the accommodation is sorted. I'm staying with the ratbag nephew, his girlfriend and their baby son, he's due 8th July and is the subject of the Lilypie ticker on the front page. I'm only going f0r his birth; then I'll try to avoid him until he can take me to the pub! I'm not good with children.

Horrifying thought - he'll only be 17 at my 6oth do. Hopefully he'll look a lot older than his years. I expect I will.

And the mogs are sorted too. My mum has a friend called Angela, who runs a petminding service. She lives too far out for the Reservoir Mogs (Southern Chapter) but has agreed to look after my lot as she's 10 minutes away. Last year I was lucky enough to be in Cornwall when the basking sharks were off the south coast, and she looked after the cats then. On the first few days back, the cats would all troop off and wait at the gate at the time she usually arrived. The message was clear; we were back but they liked her. If they waited long enough she would come back. That is the best sort of reference, total customer satisfaction! The mad woman has signed up for a second go, and I'm delighted.

Gromit is going to a local kennel, recommended by a friend. So we just need to organise the 2-legged family members and we are ready to go.

what they did on their holidays

While I was enjoying the company of the Reservoir Mogs (Southern Chapter), here's what Sophie and Scott were doing!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/delishusdemon/sets/72157600315338321/

And thanks for the pressies :)

time to get planning

I will admit I'm one of the world's worst planners. In the next 4 weeks I have go overseas to meet the great-nephew and catch up with his not-so-great parents(!). This means finding somewhere that will take the pesky mogs and the dog for 8 days or so. We all found out about the baby months ago, so I have no excuse.

So now I'm trawling through the local kennels, and suddenly sympathetic to the friends who were so frantic when trying to find a decent nursery. The Reservoir Mogs might be little sods, but they are my little sods and I want them to be fairly happy and comfortable. I'd prefer to keep them all in proper confinement, although the cats were quite good for the last house-sitter. But this time they would have to put up with the dog, who is a vandal if not controlled 24/7 , so I'm looking for a place as plush as the Hilton and as secure as Alcatraz. More caffeine, now!

Shove over Fatboy McCrirrick...

I've backed my first Derby winner, ah bless! The winnings won't break the bookies, but I'm chuffed. It's the principle of the thing. Normally I look at the results and think how obvious that one would win... but I don't think I'll be setting up an account with Ladbrokes just yet.

I like the people who bet on the most bizarre things, then rock up years later to claim their winnings and enjoy their 5 mins on local telly. You may have noticed the Lilypie ticker at the bottom of the page - my first great-nephew is due to make an appearance early July. So tempting to bet he'll score a hat-trick at Wembley before his 18th birthday! This is working on the principle that I lose more than I win, so he'll end up off in the real world, doing something useful.

Cat-sitting, Wednesday

Wednesday: The cats are now used to the setup. No one feels the need to throw any kitty tantrums, or be overly affectionate (just in case Sophie and Scott feel the need to sail into the sunset, and I'm the only feeding option left). I've had a bitch of a day, the victim of mild cyber-bullying by a stupid academic who hates repetition but won't take no for an answer. After several e-mails in which I slowly lose the will to live, he finally gets the point. I don't have the information he needs, but I'm the only one daft enough to have put my name on an e-mail. I think vicious thoughts and blame the migraine medication, which normally would have worked by now. Wish I'd never thought of a sickie, now I am feeling really ill. Between the headache and this joker I feel vile. I wonder if I cover him in tuna, will the cats kill him off and dispose of the evidence? I put this idea to mate Anna, as a purr-fect murder. After the groans stop, she points out that all the cats are fussy eaters bar Elvis; he really can't be expected to do this alone.

Back at the ranch, the Reservoir Mogs Southern Chapter are being little angels. Back home, I wake at 3am with a temperature and the most awful stomach pains. Just before I pass out near the bathroom, I wonder if that academic is studying some bizarre voodoo cult... come round to the reception committee of scared cats, daft dog and Mum with the fix-everything cup of tea. Finally see the bright side of her moving back to my house for a bit :)

Thursday: 9am, feel ok and go to work to fix the pesky voodoo academic once and for all, tuna or no tuna! 11am, sent home by boss. She doesn't say if it is the pallor or the murder plot which disturbs her most. So I spend time with the cats. Sophie and Scott have a house full of crime novels, but I feel sick and lazy. We enjoy a pleasant evening with an end-of-term feel about it. They appear to understand the phrase "your mum and dad are back tomorrow", and Boyfriend Cat shows up for a final spot of supper with me. And no, I can't take him home.

Friday: spend the morning in my GP's surgery and in the local outpatients! Doc H decides that heavy-duty medication and a bloodtest is necessary. Don't dare do the Tony Hancock joke about nearly an armful, as everyone in the room is way younger than me, and classic comedy may not be their thing. Sophie and Scott are back and I'm delighted the cats have not killed each other or trashed the house - result! My cats are puzzled at the amount of time I've spent with them today, but not really complaining. They just don't know about the significance behind the fresh tuna steaks...

cat-sitting continued.

Tuesday: Went into work to find everyone had been ill over the weekend. Like brave little soldiers we all trooped in and spent a day comparing symptoms, sad bunch of hypochondriacs and drama queens that we are. Glad to escape to Catsville. Holly makes a fashionably late entrance for supper, Boyfriend Cat turns up bang on time. Rumpole has rediscovered the joys of silver-ball chasing, and is very nimble for a fat cat. Elvis is staging his own version of BBC Springwatch, gazing contentedly into mid-distance at nothing in particular. They all turn up as I'm leaving, to show a bit of affection. No plaintive meowing as I abandon them, just a 'Bye, then!' and they all trot off to their preferred cosy places. Back home, Eric (Chief Reservoir Mog) gives me a gentle head-butt in greeting. The others just mooch about and sniff distainfully at me.

Cat-sitting

Sophie and Scott have trusted me to look after their furry little darlings for a week. They are off to lose their landlubber status, learning to sail in far-off exotic Dunoon. Rather than add this to their blogs, I use the opportunity to start posting.

So I am looking after Holly, Rumpole and Elvis. My psycho-kitties are being cared for by my mother (Pesky Critter par excellence).

Saturday, visit 1: Holly decides she hates my guts, hides under bed. Does a very good impression of implacable hatred mixed with heartbroken dismay. Elvis comes in for a scoff, then back to the garden. He is determined to get every frog in the garden, and can't be distracted by pleasantries. Rumpole is fat, friendly and easily won over with a smart bit of ear-rubbing. Back home, my lot pick up the scent of strangers. I am shunned.

Saturday, visit 2: Holly changes her sulking venue, choosing the garage roof instead. Very Strangeways-here-we-come, but Scott is a Morrisey fan and she can't help being influenced. Elvis assures me there are several hundred frog corpses in the garden. I strongly suggest they stay there. Rumpole becomes fascinated by the invisible mouse in the kitchen. I consider exploring with a torch but my nerve fails me. If I find a real one, I'll have to do something. With three cats in the house, that seems like unnecessary work. Back home, my lot are still having hissy-fits, at least the dog is still my pal.

Sunday: Holly returns to underbed sulking for a while. At some point she considers that I sound suitably forlorn and broken, and becomes my bezzie mate. It might have something to do with the frantic game of 'chase the silver paper ball' - I'm horribly unfit, and I think she enjoys my pain. Rumpole joins me on the sofa to watch 'Dr Who' as I recover. Another cat turns up. It is the stray Boyfriend Cat, all bootfaced and hopeful. Easily fed and easily pleased. I like him.

Monday: Fight off migraine and head for the daily visit. Elvis is the king of the sofa, Rumpole is all cosy in a box near the dining table. Holly comes downstairs to greet me, but makes it clear I am not worthy. She just wanted to be quick off the mark when the food goes down. Elvis is a greedy little so-and-so. But I get a little feline sympathy, and am tempted to throw a sickie and stay with them tomorrow.

Well, it's taken a while...

Back in April 2005, I wanted to post something on a friend's blog. I sort-of started to create this blog, and did bugger all with it.

I still check his blog regularly, and other friends have gone to the dark side, so I'm joining in.

The Reservoir Mogs of the title are my cats. Other people get nice fluffy-purry-cutesy cats. Mine are paid-up feline sociopaths (hence the nickname, they make Tarantino look like Thora Hird when they get going) and I'm jealous. I also share my home with a dog whose nickname is the Yorkshire Terrorist. He is the ringleader of the pesky critters, which also includes family, friends, work colleagues and anyone else who may get a mention

And right now, I'm cat-sitting for the Reservoir Mogs (Southern Chapter).

Jeez... is there enough tequila in the world for this?