It's that time of year that's neither one thing nor the other, or as the papers would put it a slow news day - so here's my random musings for your eternal joy and edification.
Being the suspicious bastard that I am I immediately asked the question "What does she want this time?" when I received a text from Little Hippy Mate wishing me a belated happy christmas with the rider added "You know me I'll be late for my own funeral" - not if you don't commission the promised photographic work you won't. Incidentally I don't know if her mutilation parlour (crap tribal a speciality) has opened yet or not as I don't have occasion to travel the length of Leytonstone High Road - but if you're passing let me know if you hear the screams.
For those of you who were concerned about Mister Squeaky's well-being he has been successfully unstuck from the ceiling and the doctors say that the PDSA inspector should regain at least partial use of both thumbs and he can always wear a false ear - it's his own fault he should never of called Mister Squeaky a "cute lil' batsy-watsy" - Still you live and learn
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