Day 3
Funny old day. I'm not sure if it's my love of life, or just malnutrition but I feel all spaced today. The drive home from work was a treat, but at least they were kind enough to give me seven days to produce my documents at the station. Good luck with that, I'll be unconscious by then. I've asked them to put a note in the calendar to check on me if I'm a no-show.
Walked in the door to sulking cats. It appears they had given up trying to use the can opener and had scratched the hell out of the sofa in some kind of dirty protest. However, and feeling slightly annoyed at having to give up a ready supply of protein for next week, I relented and cracked open a pouch of cat food ("lamb" chunks in gravy!), and gave it to them. Not a word of thanks. They're lying on the deck giving me a look at the moment. If I didn't know better I'd say they were planning something evil and feline. (I am aware that "Evil" and "Feline" are considered both sides of the same coin).
You know you've been on your own for too long when even the thought of watching The One Show is appealing. I'm sat watching Alex and Matt ponce around on Weston-Super-Mare beach. What's Somerset done to deserve that I ask you. Rhod Gilbert just looked at me and shook his head.
Plans for tonight you say? I'd thought I'd attempt to tackle the pile of washing I left in the lounge, perhaps leave the cupboard doors open and abandon my shoes in the middle of the floor. (I can feel Jay twitching from here). Don't worry honey, I'm lying about the cupboard doors, I burnt them for warmth.
Tarra.
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