I've just returned (again) from "the best pub in Brighton", where I'm pleased to report they're now stocking ice cubes. Which they're putting in the wine to save them from having to keep it in the fridge.

On the way home, I was nearly run over by this attractive little vehicle, which came screaming around the corner just as I was crossing the road. The logo on the side told me it was transporting Pets to the Vets, which I assumed was some kind of Geordie call-girl service for the British Legion, but is in fact a local taxi company for gerbils. Their website describes the 'Pets to the Vets' drivers as "accomplished". Accomplished at getting cats to casualty at the expense of a human life anyway.

Talking of such things, the good news of the day is that Charlie the stray cat, whom Lisa and I successfully cared for without a single problem for an entire fortnight at the beginning of this month, has finally returned home after going missing the weekend before last. It turns out Lorraine had shut him in the garage for a week.

But good news for Charlie (and not quite so good for me and Lisa) is that Lorraine is going to New York for bonfire night (as you do), so we've been roped in to look after her cats again. Ah yes, barely a month since the weeing on shoes incident, and we're going to be reunited with Oscar & Timmy for a weekend. It's like a dream come true.