Day 184: I Revert To Speed-O-Blog Once Again In An Attempt To Get My Cat Off My Hands

This endless busyness is wearing. My shoulders are aching. I dream of sugar and things that would make a Freudian psychoanalyst wear holes in her notepad.

Yet tiny things continue to drip just within range of my relentlessly efficient peripheral vision! I find myself compelled, by a strange force I do not understand, to further wear down the coating on the space bar and "e" in the dim hope that someone, somewhere will want to know how I smuggled an aquatic rodent into a Top London Eaterie* last night.

And so to 'Speed-O-Blog' once again, my last resort in times of Busyness. (Or how about "Postasbord"? Sounds clever and faintly Scandinavian.)

We take Beaver the Beaver out on the town

Regular readers will be aware of the work of Beaver the Beaver. He has been down in the mouth of late; yesterday afternoon, I found him listening to Airbag by Radiohead and sighing, a little as I did a month or so ago . This can only mean one thing: he is homesick for the Canada.

There is nothing sadder than a homesick beaver and so, when I went to dine with my brother, Runningmonkey, Beaver the Beaver came too. (We went to a very nice restaurant, where they provided a special high chair, a picture of Canada and some pencils for him to colour it in with.)






















As you will see from these photographs, he also practised dam building on a panacotta with poached rhubarb and the "truffle logs"* that came with my afogato, and had a cheeky pop on our biscuit in Bar Italia afterwards.

You will be glad to know that Beaver the Beaver is now tucked up in front of repeats of "Life On Earth" on BBC9, talking about snowshoes in the shape of tennis rackets and looking at the picture of Pierre Trudeau I cut out of a magazine for him.

I think my cat needs a new home

Regular readers will be aware of the work of my cat, Monster. I adoped him and his uncle, Squiffy (deceased) one night two years ago when I was drunk. Monster is about 13, fat and very stupid. On a good day (i.e., when he has company all day), he is like Bagpuss. On a bad day, I want him to die. He is so stupid that he sits in the garden under apple trees, and when very big apples the size of the moon fall on his head it makes no apparent difference.

I am away quite a lot. This is not good for Monster. Monster needs attention and affection. He will probably die soon, so you won't have to feed him for long. If you want him, please let me know. If you are nice and I think you will like him more than I do (not difficult), I will even drive him to you if you live in Edinburgh.

As if I have not made him sound tempting enough, here are some enticing photographs:

























You should also know that an eminent veterinary friend has confirmed that he a) does not have dementia; b) is a bit weird; c) looks like a bat about the ears.

I am going to see a Baby

Tomorrow to the Hospital to see a Tiny Baby inside a lady! Happily, I know the lady, and also her husband, and also her small daughter who is my goddaughter (and has a monkey called Creskin). I will see the baby on a Screen apparently!

I am going on a Business Trip

Regular readers will be aware of the fact that in the olden days I used to travel on big planes in the name of Business. Ladies in hats would bring me free stuff, most of which I did not want, and there were always men with boards with my name on everywhere, even at the end of my bed in my five star hotel room.

On Friday I go to Amsterdam to See A Man About A Dog. Just like in the Olden Days, my travel has been arranged for me. I will however admit that I was startled to discover that my flight leaves Stansted at 7.05 IN THE MORNING.

The comments are better than the post

This is often the way, as my readers are, on the whole (with the exception of any of my family) quite amusing. You don't need a link; just read the comments on the post below.


* I dislike this kind of language. Things like "a portion of moist cake" that has been "drenched with a mouthwatering coulis". Give me the fucking cake and shut up, fool.