The dangers of alcohol

As if to confirm the lessons of alcoholic tragedy which Bestie so richly demonstrated, the BFFP came home as p***ed as a newt just now. Frankly she could barely make it up the stairs and he had to put her to bed.

So, in one fell swoop, she blows her reputation for sobriety and moderation. Or more likely, she makes everyone scratch their heads and think: "And this woman used to keep her end up at beer festivals?"

It's a young man's game, alcohol. Once you've lost the knack, it's gone forever.

Bestie

By the way, did I ever tell you about the time I met the great man? I was living in a boozer at the time (I was a lot younger then). I saw him having a pint and a chaser in the corner and I couldn't resist it.

"You're George Best aren't you?" I said.

"Oh fuck, cats are talking to me now!" said Bestie, and he buggered off home.

Milk for the masses!

As a cat, I would like to wholeheartedly endorse the spirit of this counter-protest in Aberdeen:

"POLICE had to break up an animal rights protest yesterday when schoolchildren in Aberdeen pelted activists with cartons of milk.

Sean Gifford of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) and an unidentified man in a cow-suit had planned a peaceful protest at the gates of the Grammar School to let pupils know about the claimed hazards in milk.

But they had to be rescued by two female police officers when the teenage pupils launched a violent protest of their own.

About 100 children, shouting "milk for the masses" and carrying banners, surrounded Mr Gifford and his "cow" partner and drenched them both in milk for about ten minutes. The police eventually intervened and escorted the PETA members back to their car.

Mr Gifford said: "I have travelled all over the UK with this protest and I have never seen anything like this before. It must be something to do with children in Aberdeen. I think they just got a bit over-excited. I’m sure they will still go home and think about our message."

Yesterday’s protest was the latest in PETA’s nationwide drive to publicise what it claims are dangers in drinking milk. They have been handing out cards with cartoon pictures of characters suffering from wind, spots and obesity as a result of dairy products.

The cards tell kids to "give cows a break" and "be kind to animals and your butt and your gut" by avoiding milk.

But one pupil, Alan Smith, 16, said: "This is a stupid idea. We should be encouraged to drink milk and I certainly won’t stop drinking milk just because a man has dressed up as a cow outside my school.""

Milk protest turns sour, Scotsman, 12 October 2002

Of course, I don't touch it anymore. A bit like George Best, I had one too many nights out on the 'white stuff'. Now, I just stay in most evenings and think about the good ol' days.

Nobody's come

The landlady didn't show. Nor did some bloke who had to put an aerial on the roof. Too wet. No character, some people.

I wouldn't mind, I could always get a decent picture on the telly in the study while they struggled downstairs but the swines have locked me out of there now because of another 'incident'.

Come on. You commit the crime, you do the time. But I'm still being punished. Why me? Sounds like a Morrissey song but it's a legitimate concern.

Now I know how Anne Frank felt

The landlady is coming round. Apparently, BFFP doesn't know how she'll react to my presence (awe, I would assume, but you never can tell). My living here is probably OK but just in case, I may have to be spirited away out of sight until she's gone.

It's OK. I can hide in some secret panel and eke out an emotionally raw diary on my Nokia which can be published to great acclaim. Hopefully, not posthumously. I quite fancy a bit of acclaim.

Anyone can make a mistake...

...as the dalek said, climbing off the dustbin. Well, even your site host is not immune.

It was a bit nippy Saturday night and so BFFP had shut the living room door to keep the heat in. I was stuck outside and, frankly, a bit curious to see if there was more to this. After my success the other night with the door handle, I was feeling pretty confident but as it happens, she heard me scratching about so she let me in. Anyway, once I realised there was a quite noisy war movie on, which wasn't my cup of tea, I tried to leave. So, I quite rightly starting pawing at the left hand side of the door. It worked before, but now it wasn't. Why?

How was I supposed to know that when you're on the other side of a door, the handle is on the other side? Eh? The eyesight isn't the best so I'm working from memory a bit here... But HOW they laughed. Bastards.