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Yet another day and something else we can’t say

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Today is apparently World Cancer Day.

I haven’t seen any cards in the shops – surely the only options being, “Congratulations on not having cancer”  OR  “Sorry to hear you have cancer”

I wonder what day it will be tomorrow? Other than Wednesday I mean.

Today I am informed by PETA that apparently I am no longer allowed to refer to the cats as my pets as this reduces them to being a commodity or decoration.  I await news reports of budgies, hamsters, cats, dogs and goldfish going on strike to protest in the streets. Protesting at centuries of ill-feeling and thinly disguised contempt at us humans for the injustice of it all.  Pets at Home stores will be burned to the ground by angry mobs of Russian dwarf hamsters running amok in their little balls, whilst bearing tiny flaming pitchforks aloft.

I’m no Doctor Doolittle (apparently we need another one of those films aswell) but I do have quite the affinity with the animal kingdom, and my spider senses tell me that most of them don’t give a shit what they’re called, as long as they get fed.



Meanwhile, Bman had a rake through a load of bags dumped down the road earlier after rumours online that they contained someone’s cannabis harvest.


Just stalks and leaves left.  All usable material already harvested of course.  Ah well.

That could have been a lovely Valentine’s gift.  Stuff your red roses or chocolates. A binliner of loft-grown home harvest, that’s what you need.




Eye Eye, Ear Ear.

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He’s back! Not quite as we know it, but he’s back.  Not quite the same pussycat but not in a terrifying way like that one on Stephen King’s Pet Semetary. He hasn’t tried to eat our faces off yet. He hasn’t tried to eat anything TBH.
I am feeding him through his feeding tube with what seems to be some kind of Dunns River nourishment drink for cats.  He mostly lies around, not moving and looking very very sorry for himself. But wouldn’t you if you could only see out of one eye and had a tube dangling from your neck held in place with a bandage covered in pictures of tractors?



I have to be Nurse Radchett to his Randle McMurphy, doling out his meds and twiddling about with his tubes and bandages and lubricating his special eye.



The pair of us have been sleeping on the couch downstairs.  Him with his lethargy & gimpiness and me with my special ears.  This is the collection of unguents and medications I have accrued over the last week to try and sort my swim ear out. Had to go into the chemist and ask for the strongest painkiller they could legally sell me.  The full Ant McPartlin/ Matthew Perry package. 



One of the things has come from America, from Amazon. Seemingly it’s no longer available in the UK. Quite possibly for the same reason you can’t just walk into a store here and buy pepper spray like you can over there.  I tried some in my bad ear and it felt like when you inhale sharply after eating wasabi and you briefly have 20/20 vision and can see the future.  Like someone had stuck a lit sparkler in my ear canal!  When I checked the ingredients I saw that it was 95% alcohol!

Here’s to both of us being back to 100% soon.  Meanwhile we’re both watching 22 July on Netflix – a dramatization of Anders Breivik’s lunatic attack on Oslo and Utoya island. Terrifying stuff. What a fookin’ nutter!  Be wary kids. Not everyone is who they say they are, just because they’re dressed as a policeman or wearing a Hi-Vis.

On that chilling note, I’ll leave you there while I go and administer more kerosene to my ear.


Ciao Ciao


PS:  Oh. BTW.  Pet insurance.  You need that shit.  So far Alan has cost around £3K (luckily he is covered) but Bman could have got a new car for that!

That’s at least 1 life gone!

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My little baby big fat man cat, Alan Lickman is hospitalized and slowly eating into the meager savings we have, while he has his smiley face repaired.



Cat Vs Taxi


Got a call at 1:30am Sunday morning from the local PDSA saying someone had brought him in after finding him on the road nearby.  They weren’t sure he would survive, so after waking Bman, off we went in the wee small hours leaving the childerbeast unattended and hoping that they wouldn’t be carted off in a fireman’s lift in their PJs, never to be seen again.

Surreal experience of being at the vet’s at that time. Not helped by still being half asleep and the lady on the desk confusing us with some people who arrived at the same time with a sick dog. This led to us being ignored and left unsupervised in the reception area for quite some time. 

We couldn’t get back outside to ring the intercom buzzer and there was no bell or anything on the desk.  Resorted to calling out ghost hunt style. “Hallo. Is there anybody there?”  Eventually, someone appeared and we got to see him.  I say we – Bman isn’t right cracking at this type of thing. I have a slightly better constitution for the grisly and the messy – from being a mum, first aider and a primary school educator I guess. So I went in to see him to check out the damage first.

Poor little dude looked a right state.  Sloth from the Goonies sprung to mind! Was glad Bman didn’t see him in his gory glory.  His jaw was dislocated and he had a bit of a popeye going on and looked a bit of an actual bloody mess.  But alive! And aware that I was there despite being hopped up on methadone. (Him, not me).

Since then he’s been patched up and his jaw rewired. he’s pottering about a bit but being fed through a feeding tube.  They’re keeping him in for a few days still and I’m hoping to go visit him tomorrow,  take him some grapes and Lucozade and a comic – that kind of thing.  Wonder if he’ll be in one of those backless gowns with his butt hanging out?

I only hope I can track down the lady who took him to the PDSA because I think if he’d been left or run off when he was hit, that he would be brown bread in a bush somewhere.

Thank you, whoever you are.  Hopefully he will be home soon.









Sun’s out

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So, I’ve been back in the ghetto over 48 hours now and am already regretting not face-planting myself into a chilly reservoir somewhere in Northampton.  Have I always been this boring?  (Bman probably yells YES from downstairs).  I like to think it more as ‘quietly reserved’ though.  Why am I so self-conscious?  Has it always been so? (Am pretty sure that recreational-pharmaceutical induced moments of euphoric abandon don’t count.)
I do tend to err on the side of caution admittedly.  (To be fair, the last time I lived dangerously, without dubious enhancements, I lost my favourite coat, got dropped off in a cab at the wrong house & ultimately lost several friends and a lot of dignity). 

It was a very long time ago.

However, in the spirit of 40+ living recklessly, I allowed my 11 year old to finally get a hamster and keep it in her room. 

I know.  Check me.  Like woah, slow down there lady! 

She’s been pestering us for one for ages, even relenting to get degus instead, as they can be kept outside.  We did say she could have one when we move house, but as that seems to be a mere pipe dream, we’ve caved and it arrived on Thursday.

She calls it ‘Ash’.  It’s a male albino Russian dwarf hamster.  I think Igor, Boris or Ivan Tokillu would make a better name. 

See how his red eyes glow as he plots like a miniature Bond villain.  Doubtless rubbing his freakishly tiny hands together as he makes his plans to take over the world.


Mwah ha ha ha

Mwah ha ha ha


From within his tiny Death Star he makes his plans against us...

From within his tiny Death Star he makes his plans against us…

I have allowed a minion of Satan to live on my daughter’s bedside cabinet.  Does that make me a badass or a dumbass?  I think I know the answer.


Meanwhile.  Everything looks so much better when the sun is out.  I say everything… looking around town at the vest-clad-tatts-on-tits posse, then perhaps not.
I decided to make the most of the summer while it lasts, by tickling about in the garden and tidying up my plants yesterday.  An unkempt backyard is a friend to no-one after all.  I then busted out the lateral thigh trainer and weighted hula hoop in the usual annual attempt to become ‘beach ready’ (for a beach I will undoubtedly never get to.)  Don’t think scrabbling around for fossils at Boggle Hole with my old pal Gene Genie,  counts as strutting our buffed bouncy bits on the beach.  (FYI Gene, I saw someone earlier this week who… wait for it…
“doesn’t believe in dinosaurs”.  I shit you not!)


My alfresco exercise regime was rudely interrupted by the usual sounds of a summer day in the projects.  Underage bellends on dirt bikes, razzing around the streets with shirts off and the inevitable Five:O Airshow – because apparently we do actually live in Crenshaw.
Like clockwork,  The sun comes out & Officer Dibble takes to the air.  Does my head in.  Either catch some criminals or fuck off out of my yard.  I’m trying to catch some rays and listen to Radio 6 here buddy.

Glad to see my taxes paying for the Babylon to perv at local sunbathers

Glad to see my taxes paying for the Babylon to perv at local sunbathers

They’re heeeeeere!!

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So the Bman and I finally caved (well TBH Bman probably didn’t have much choice, he has just been swept along in the fever)…. and we now own a pair of degus.

In fairness I blame Bman entirely for this, for glibly promising the girls that they could have pets when we moved house.  This then became an obsession with Thing2, who has become a self-styled expert on these Chilean ground squirrels (for that’s their other name).  As it doesn’t look like we are moving anywhere new anytime soon, with having zero viewings on the house; we thought it only fair to let her have them for her birthday (which admittedly isn’t for another 3 weeks).

Some finally arrived at the local pet store this week, so off we went on Saturday morning with 2 very excited little girls clutching a rodent carrier.   We returned an hour later with 2 female degus named Lydia/Linda and Bugsy.  (Not my choice – I wanted to go with Dave Degu and Degu Dave, but the childerbeast wouldn’t have it.)

Bit of a farce with the pet shop Saturday boy getting eaten alive as he chased them around the enclosure trying to find 2 females.  We just stood the other side of the glass watching him slowly dripping blood from his ravaged fingertips, as the degus led him a merry dance.  I just kept mouthing ‘sorry’ at him whilst trying not to laugh.     Finally 2 females were captured, but as we were waiting to pay at the till whilst the Saturday boy was sent next door to Superdrug for elastoplasts to bandage his hands back together, Bman spotted one of the degus going in for the old cheeky backscuttle on the other one.  Questioning the sapphic proclivities of female degus we sought a second opinion from the lady on the till & it seemed that we had in fact got one of each!

Schexual times!

Despite her assurances that at this age the male was not mature enough to impregnate the female, I asked her put him back because I’ve heard that one before! (haven’t we all ladies?)   So off she went to change him.
I’m not convinced that she swapped them, so it could be a case of buy 2 get 12 free in 2 months time, as there’s no telling that the 2 females we now have haven’t been got at already!  FFS! Why were the males & females not separated just to be safe?

You can still see the pet shop dude's blood in the tube

You can still see the pet shop dude’s blood in the tube

On the plus side.  I am now apparently the “best mum ever”.  Who knew that this is all it took, or that this is what it took to get my childerbeast to leave the house!   They’ve been in the Wendy house ever since, just sitting and talking to the bloody things.

I thought one was dead for a couple of hours when it went for a scamper, completely missed the ladder & fell down the stairwell then limped off to it’s little hut and didn’t appear again for hours.  I had visions of strapping up a tiny broken leg with a fecking matchstick or something.   Luckily it seems fine now.*

Wonder how long they’ll last once the childerbeast start getting them out to play with and leaving the cage open and/or the cats get a sniff of them?

(*I just re-read that back and thought it best to clarify that I thought the degu was dead, not one of my children.)


PS:  Weather was so atrocious last night that I feared for their safety and almost went out to get them but figured that would probably traumatize them even more.  Thing2 and I were out there at 07:30 this morning checking to see if they were still alive!

They look fine to me (though the one on the right looks as if she is plotting to kill me).

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