I can't stand the raaaiiin, against my window

I could not for the life of me remember who sang that. But, the wonder that is Google - I really do not know what I would do without it - has just told me that it is Tina Turner. Good Google. The weatherman warned me last night that the beautiful weather we have been having would not be around for the next few days, and that we would end up seeing much in the way of rain for the next few days. But, seeing as you can never trust the weatherman, I came out to work in my Birkenstocks. And it rained. Not very hard, or very much, but enough to give you that yukky damp feeling.


My life is soon to be complete

I got a text message from my hairdresser friend this morning asking me if I want her to pick up my GHDs today, as she's coming over tonight. I am so excited I don't think it has quite hit me. I am soon to own the mother (and father, and brother and sister) of ALL straightening irons. At a price of only £100 for the newest model. Granted, £100 for hair appliances is absolute extortion, however, I have wanted a pair of these babies for approximately 5 years and now that I am able I am damn well going to purchase some! The excitement is overwhelming - I am shaking at the thought of having the ability to make my hair as sleek as I wish in no time at all. No, I am not sad.


Michael Jackson

On another note, I lost my kitten last week. He is all black with a few white hairs on his chest and his name is Michael Jackson. No, this is not some cruel twist of fate whereby he was born part albino or anything. Michael Jackson was born about a month prem. along with his sister who turned in to this huge, fluffy tortoisheshell with the temperament of a ragdoll. Anyhow, the little girl was snapped up straight away, leaving me with this nasty little runt with a head far too big for his body. At this point (over Christmas) my entire family were all in Australia, where my brother found that a rather large Huntsman lived in the bathroom. So ugly was this spider apparently, (more like my brother was just petrified of it) that they called him Michael Jackson. (Michael Jackson Mark I, the spider died in February apparently). So, I had this tiny little thing (who could in no way be likened to a cat) with a huge head and long skinny legs and fur that stuck up all over the place and who crept around like a sneaky spider, that I decided to call him Michael Jackson (Mark II). Well, it had to be better than E.T. as I had taken to calling him.
Anyhow, Michael Jackson sneaked off out through the cat flap last Wednesday evening, and had not returned home by Thursday morning. You've got to remember that this is a tiny little cat, who does not look at all like he is 6 months old. Eventually, after looking everywhere for him, my mum found him cowering under an industrial-size rubbish bin outside the school next door. The relief was immense when he was home. He seemed absolutely petrified after his excursion, and he was cooed over and fed yummy cat treats and ham and given milk. And after his fill, the little fucker tried to get out again. No way. He's absolutely full of it, that cat. And to top it off he's a thief. And an omnivore. In fact, I think he truly is more rat than cat. He eats cheese. And sweetcorn. And chocolate (he had a wa-hey hey of a time over Easter). And baked beans. He just loves baked beans. This is as well as his food and stealing food from the dog.

Anyhow, Michael Jackson now has a new collar. It is bright red with a bell, so not only can you see him but you can also hear him. His new trick is to sit on his arse and pretend to scratch when, in fact, all he does is spin his collar round and round and round his neck making a noise with the bell. He seems to like it anyway, and it's so funny to watch.


I have a stupid meeting at 1pm which I am most certainly not looking forward to in the slightest. I suppose I should go and prepare so at least it seems like I know what the hell I'm talking about.