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Monday, September 26, 2005

I am shocked and stunned. Just when you think no cat could outdo Timmy in the naughtiness stakes, along comes Oscar with an early bid for the title of Week's Worst Cat. I'm sitting here in Lorraine's living room, making full use of her new wireless internet access by surfing the web on her sofa, and Oscar has just come strolling in from the garden. Let's face it, he's not Timmy, so I was quite happy to see him. For about ten seconds anyway. Having sauntered in, he then walked straight over to the other side of the room where I'd placed my shoes neatly by the television, climbed on top of them, squatted down, and weed all over them. Right in front of me. He could at least have waited for me to turn my back.

And what's more, he'd obviously saved himself for that moment. I don't want to get too graphic, but frankly there was about a gallon of it. It took half a kitchen roll to dry the carpet, and I ended up having to hold my shoes under the tap. They still smell a bit dodgy now, and if they ever shine again it'll be a miracle.

I have to say though, as I sat watching a river of urine cascading over my shoes, I couldn't help feeling slightly smug that barely half an hour earlier I'd been to Sainsburys for that kitchen roll. I'd have made a good Boy Scout. I'm prepared for anything.

As for yesterday, well the highlight of the day had to be a phone call from Lisa's mother who was ringing not to see how we're getting on, but to ask me to put £2 on Baron's Pit in the 3:45 at Newmarket. I did. And it won. At odds of 23-1. Honestly, that woman is so jammy.

The only other phone call was from Lorraine's next door neighbour, who rang from her house five yards away to tell me to put the rubbish out ("now - not in the morning"), and to comment about how late we'd arrived on Saturday. It was a phone call I appreciated. Especially as we were in bed at the time.

I can't say I appreciated the alarm going off at 6am this morning though. Lisa, who'd stated her bold intention to be at work for 8am, promptly refused to get up, and started a half hour long protest about Mondays. I was tempted to use Supernanny techniques to get her into line, but frankly if I had to send her to the naughty step for one minute for every year of her life, she'd be there all day. So I just shoved her in the back until she fell out of bed.

The drive to work took over half an hour instead of the usual 20 minutes, for which I place the blame squarely on Tony Blair's shoulders, for having the nerve to hold his annual conference directly on the route between Lorraine's house and Lisa's place of work. We took an alternative route on the way there, regretted it, and I came back along the seafront past the 'Ring of Steel' which the police have set up to protect us against suicide bombers. It's basically a two foot high piece of Meccano. But I'm sure it's very effective.