Douglas Adams

The Blob that loves and feeds me has another passion.

She is a posthumous fan of the late great Douglas Adams. She was actually a fan of his before he died, but neither of us are particuarly sure of the correct term for that.

He wrote the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy books and she is also a fan of Eoin Colfer who wrote the final part of the wrongly named trilogy and which was very good. (The films were crap, to coin a phrase). Perhaps he can continue the Dirk Gently novels. It is the Dirk Gently books that Blob is currently interested in. She read them some years ago, and is not sure in hindsight what the plots were, but she definately remembers the theory of the Holistic Detective Agency that based its detection upon the 'interconnectedness of all things'. This is some thing that Blob likes the sound of despite the fact that her memories of the novels consist of a Fridge that was thrown out rather than cleaned, and which ultimately contained Thor, Norse god of Thunder and other stuff. Also that the homeless people of London are actually the lost gods of Valhalla because they have nothing else to do in the day time.

The reason her interest has been piqued is that BBC 4 are about to transmit their adaptation of the Dirk Gently novel or novels starting tomorrow night. The programme starts at 9.00 pm which means she can get back from cubs in time to slob out and appreciate the BBC's version of the 'interconnectedness of all things'. She is really hoping that the ethos is portrayed aptly, but is more interested in the lead actor. Dirk Gently is being played by 'that bloke', you know the one, hes the one that was in that funny thing, he has dark curly hair and a smile to die for, you must have seen him, 'that bloke' - the gorgeous one.

Anyway, I for one am looking forward to Blobs return home and a cozy hour infront of interconnectedness and 'that bloke'.

Heres to slobbing out infront of the telly and hopefully great bbc adaptations.

Also, heres to Douglas Adams - one of the modern greats!

Bob

Hungover

Last night Blob had a party to celebrate her Birthday. She is 21. Although i'm not sure what that equates to in human years?

A party consists of a day of frantic cleaning, and some huge shopping, and finally a whole bundle of cooking.

Yesterday Blob produced one huge chocolate cake, one chocolate pavlova roulade, a peach and raspberry pavolva roulade (that was the healthy option), three homemade ciabatta's, an enormous amount of celariac and carrot remoulade (thats like coleslaw), beetroot and feta salad, huge pots of chicken and 40 cloves of garlic, medium cooked steaks for the ciabatta so she could do steak sandwiches with rocket salad and horseradish.

Today, she has what is called a Hangover. Apparently this is what you get when you drink too much and it means that you lie on the sofa all day eating crap.

Today, there is enough chicken and salad left over to last both Blob and the other Blob a week or two but my Blob chose not to eat any of it - instead she wallowed in a bad headache and ate nothing but marshmallows and peanuts until lunch time. She then decided she felt better and ate chocolate cake and pavlova roulade and cheese sandwiches.

At about 8.00 pm she decided that she needed to finish the bottle of wine she opened just before bed time last night.

At 8.30 pm she went upstairs to ransack her sheets to find the false eyelashes that werent on her face this morning when she got up.

At 9.00 pm she gave up looking for falsh eyelashes because she found one and i tried to eat it.

She is now complaining of a stomach ache and can't for the life of her think why? (I wonder at times like this why the human race is the current ruling species on this planet!)

I wonder if the dinosaurs ever suffered from hangovers. That could explain a lot.

Bob

In the Dog House

I am truly and deservedly in the dog house - there are no dogs but to be honest i would probably have deserved it if there were. I am a very bad kitty.

Today for her lunch, Blob had chicken.

I like chicken and asked her politely if I could have some.

Now Blob and I quite often come to blows over her food, mainly because it smells so much nicer than mine.

However today when she pushed me away I was a bit more persistent, and this time, when she bawled 'NO!' at me I didnt go and sulk in front of the fire ...

... I didnt do that at all ...

... what i actually did is jump on to her knees, sink all my claws in and hiss and yeowl in her face.

Blob was very upset and not just because she dropped her plate on the floor, and not just because i still tried to get the chicken now it was on the floor, and not just because she wopped me one with the plate.

She is still very upset.

I know this because she barely spoke to me when she threw my supper at me.

I know this because when i tried to climb on her for our Sunday afternoon cuddle, she turned away and started working out scout menus on her laptop.

So I am truly in the dog house and deservedly so.

I wonder if it will have passed by bedtime - I dont want to miss my bedtime biccies.

Yours sadly and repentently,

Bob

Noxious Fumes

Today my Big Pink Blob has been on one! Im not sure what 'On One' means quite but I think its young persons speak for really busy, and going at things non stop.

If it doesnt mean that, then I apologise to the young people and start to worry because now I and Blob have no idea what they have been talking about.

But the long and the short of it is that Blob has finished making Christmas Cards and will be set for sending them out on 1 December, or thereabouts.

Part of making Christmas Cards means Blob sits on the floor and sprays lots of black cards to make a picture on them and gets extremely 'stoned' (which i believe is the right word) on the fumes of the spray. Unfortunately, and I'm sure that she doesnt realise this, she is not the only breathing creature in the house, and because i didn't want to lose the nice warm patch in front of the wood burner i just have to sit and inhale as well.

Of course this is entirely Blobs fault, and nothing to do with the somewhat addictive smell of the spray that i was beginning to enjoy before she decided she'd finished.

Once she had finished, I reckoned it was bed time, but no, not Blob. She insisted on watching TV and playing on the internet. She left a rave review of Nearly King Jimbo on the website, looked up three different versions of chocolate cake and of a lemon polenta cake that had been made by Nigella Yummy Tummy Lawson, as well as steak sandwiches a la Jamie Oliver, which then entailed a search for Ciabatta recipies because she wants all the food at her Birthday Party to be home made.

So after this, and a quick search for Focaccia recipes, she evenutally shut down the damn laptop, wandered upstairs, gave me my biscuits and curled up in our pit.

Never have I been so grateful for bed time.

Bob

Nearly King Jimbo Rocks!

She took her time but the Big Pink Blob has eventually got round to reading Nearly King Jimbo by acclaimed author and illustrating duo, Denise and Andy Hunt.

She didn't mean to leave it so long, but she had to finish another book first, and it was a particuarly nasty book so reading 'Jimbo' in parallel as it were, would have tarnished the experience.

Any how, today Blob sat on the sofa before she went to Cubs and finished the book. She then demonstrated a strange mixture of emotions:

• Sad because she had finished the book (Blob is always sad when she finishes books).
• Elated because she had found the Nearly King Jimbo experience absolutely fantastic.
• Concerned because she is worried incase this is the first and last of many potential adventures.

The aforementioned acclaimed author with whom Blob is acquainted, suggested that she may create a yearly annual of what has gone on in her life from next year but Blob would like to be the first of potentially many fans to say, "No to annuals, and Yes to further adventures."

She is waiting to read the following for starters:

Nearly King Jimbo and the Health and Safety Inspection
Nearly King Jimbo and the Nearly Royal Wedding
Nearly King Jimbo and the missing Christmas Tree
Nearly King Jimbo and the Porn Star
and
Nearly King Jimbo and the Temple of Doom

Actually you can probably strike the last two, one of them was blatently nicked from Steven Spielberg and the other was just perverted but thats Blob for you because its getting late and she hasn't had any cake today.

Anyway, Blob wants it stated for the record that she loves Nearly King Jimbo and thinks there should be more. She is now considering sending the book to Alison, or perhaps she should just bully her into buying her own copy?

She would also like it stated that cake, as referred to in the phrase 'hasn't had any cake today' means exactly that, 'cake'.

Bob

Eureka

Eureka is apparently what you say when understanding dawns, and apparently it can dawn very quickly. This is particularly true in the case of Archimedes who had no sooner lowered his bottom into a hot bubble bath, when he jumped out again and shouted "Eureka" at the top of his voice. This was no doubt because it had come to him in a flash that the water was too hot, but he was an ancient greek which means he was extremely old, and one cannot expect intellect to be at its peak when you are ancient.

Anyway, having struggled and scribed like a maniac over the last three weeks, Blob has finally written her Christmas Poem. She wrote reams and reams and verses and verses and at about 12.30, Sunday last she put her pen down, sighed with relief and said,

"Thank gawd for that! Its a bit forced and not particularly funny, but at this late stage it will have to do."

Now knowing what i know about my Big Pink Blob, "It will have to do" does not sit easily.

So off she trots into the kitchen, makes herself a cuppa, and suddenly she stops dead in her tracks, puts down her tea and shouts, "Oh £$&*% ^&* ("£)!*&$^ "£$%() &*^%£^&$( &*)&£%" 78*^E£*)"(apparently this translates to "Eureka" in ancient Greek), jumped in front of the Laptop and thrashed the keys solidly for 2 hours.

It is now done. Blob is happy and Christmas will go ahead as scheduled.

Thank you Archimedes!

Bob

Remember Remember ...

For a great big ugly (actually strike ugly) brute of a Cat, which is what I am and I know this because the great big pink blob who looks after me tells me so, I am, to be honest, being a bit of a big girls blouse tonight.

Its like a war zone outside and I have found a shabby furry cushion on the sofa next to Blob who is smothering me with lots of insufferable platitudes to try and make me feel better.

She even took it upon herself to clean the eye bogies off my face and pick bits of fluff off my nose.

Normally I would have high tailed it out of here in disgust and in keeping with my usual demeanour of bad tempered intolerance, but like I said, its a war zone outside and if feeling safe and warm comes with the price tag of putting up with smothering mothering and having to grant cursory interest in whatever Blob is writing in her book, then Ill pay it!

At the moment Blob is trying to solve the problem of a niece that refuses to read. If reading wasn't that important then I suspect Blob wouldn't be worried, but because not reading anything has now begun to affect her nieces vocabulary and her grades are beginning to slip.

Now Blob's niece who we will refer to as Amber (mainly I believe because that is her name) is a bright little cookie has just decided that she doesn't like reading.

Blob is working on the principle that Amber just hasn't found the right book yet. She is now examining her bookshelves to find something that may stimulate her reading juices as it were.

So far she has 'The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents', this is a Terry Pratchett book for younger readers, but Blob enjoyed it. She is desperately looking for the first in the Artemis Fowl books by Eoin Colfer and has found another Eoin Colfer book called the Supernaturalists which is not sure about but is willing to give it a shot. She is also going to try a couple of her old paperbacks by E. Nesbit, "The WouldbeGoods" and "The Treasure Seekers." She also has somewhere some Roger McGough poetry books.

She's not sure whether to try some adult books, like the Adventures of Dougal by Eric Thompson, which is actually only an adult book for adults who just haven't realised it yet.

However, what she doesn't want to do is overload her niece or bully her so she may just give her a few with the one rule. She must read 30 pages, properly, before putting it down and saying she doesn't like it.

She runs a risk of this all ending in tears, but because she couldn't imagine a world without books, she is going to risk it.

Its still banging outside and by all accounts it will be worse tomorrow - looks like another night on the sofa feigning interest in Blob.

I wouldn't mind so much but I know full well that the fireworks will now continue every weekend until Christmas.

I sometimes think i was born to suffer!

Bob

Torture no less!

Things are going from bad to worse as we approach Xmas!

Blob hasn't yet written her annual ode and although has a couple of ideas, is much preferring to bake and nick the chocolates out of the drawers of the advent calendar that she made for her niece.

This makes her short tempered, and this combined with the two days of not inconsequential stomach pain she incurred earlier in the week has made my life of comparative leisure somewhat fraught.

Firstly there is a huge dollop of nail varnish on my tail. I have no idea how it got there. Apparently I am not supposed to a) climb on to laps, or b) wag my tail whilst Blob is attempting to paint her nails, but I don't even pretend to know what that had to do with it. But now every time she tries to remove said dollop, we have a bit of a ruck because it will apparently involve removal of hair.

Secondly, she has brought me a toy that she thinks I'm going to play with. I ask you, I have no problems chasing about after a necklace, some dead leaves, shoe laces or even stockinged feet, but when she produces a purple mouse on a stick with nearly a metre of tail and a bell in it, I ran a mile. It was terrifying. She has since then, surgically removed the bell and the stick, but I'm still not playing.

Thirdly, its coming up FireWorks weekend. That means I get to cower (and I am by nature not a cowering beastie) beneath the duvet or the cushions or if I get really lucky Blob herself as she slobs out in front of the telly. It also means that I can't go outside during the hours of darkness. Grounded? Me? I ask you. Its just not dignified.

So here I am, hiding from the long purple toy and under house arrest because of the FireWorks, and daubed cruelly with Nail Varnish.

And what sympathy do I get?

"At least its not pink!" she says cheerily, then she waves that damn toy in my face.

Like I said, "Torture!"

Bob

More things I like to eat!

Today Blob has been baking and I have been helping!

First I tried helping by sitting behind her and watching her whilst she mixed things up, but she trod on me twice so I moved out of the kitchen and sat on a chair so i could see her without being in trampling distance.

I had to interrupt her a couple of times by plaintive wailing whilst a fat Great Tit helped itself to the peanuts hanging in a bird feeder that Blob bought me for my birthday. I think the original idea was that birds come to feed and i get let out to feed on said birds, but being of the female persuasion, Blob has obviously changed her mind. So she stood and watched, whilst I cried at the bottom of the patio window.

Baking however is an interesting thing to watch.

What happens is that Blob puts butter and sugar in a bowl and mushes it together, then she turns her back and starts weighing out flour.

Then she turns back to the bowl with the butter and sugar in and shouts at me for putting my paw in the mix. The art is to get onto the worksurface really quietly and what helps with this is making sure that everything else I do is done noisily.

This way, Blob reckons that she will always hear me coming!

Anyway, after she has measured the flour, she gets eggs out of the fridge and mixes them up in with the sugar and butter. Then she has to move the mixing bowl because having refused to get off the worksurface, I start trying to climb in the mixing bowl.

Once Blob has managed to mix in the eggs and the flour and knock me off the worksurface by poking me with the wooden spoon, she scrapes the mix into a cake tin which has been buttered by blob and licked by me when she wasn't watching, and then put into the oven.

While it cooks, I get to take a break and lick off the cake mix that was on the wooden spoon I got poked with. Its a hard life.

When the cake comes out of the oven its consistency has changed completely, and Blob turns it out and leaves it on a rack to cool.

She comes down stairs a few minutes later to find me back on the worksurface and patting the underside of the cake because its hot and steamy and it smells good.

I'm not sure who she intends to serve this up to, but I do love baking!

Bob

Potentially more Euthanasia?

Following a phone conversation with her sister, Blob was in a pretty black mood.

I'm not sure that I fully understand the implications but apparently Blob's mother has decided to write both her and her sister out of her will in favour of Blobs's niece.

Blob doesn't begrudge the Master Munchkin anything, but doesn't understand exactly what has brought on the change. She doesn't know what she has done wrong.

Truth be told she probably hasn't done anything wrong.

She doesn't actually like to think of anyone dying and in most instances she would rather they didn't but the truth of the matter is that when your parents die, you inherit their estate, be it a £50 premium bond or a whole house. And lets face it we are all going to die - it is probably the only universal truth upon which we all agree.

To be written out of your parents will for absolutely no reason is basically your parents giving you a two fingered salute and telling you that you are worthless and mean nothing to them.

Well all I can say to that, and I think I speak for Blob, is

"Bovvered?"

Where's that hammer?

Bob

Euthansia?

Is the word of the day apparently. I have heard it several times.

I now understand that the missing sushi and the hammer have something to do with Euthanasia. I heard Blob on the phone to her sister talking about ammonia build ups in the sushi tank and resulting blood poisoning and suddenly the penny dropped.

(Note to self: Don't let Blob take me outside wrapped in newspaper with a hammer.)

Note to everyone else, I can now add prawn crackers to my list of favourite foods, along with chicken curry, chilli kebabs, porridge and cod in batter so if anyone fancies bringing me a present next time they visit .....?

Bob

Mysterious things afoot.

Another sushi mystery!

Today, one of the sushi went missing. I notice these things because i make it my business to know what is going on with my sushi.

One of them hasn't been looking too well recently, and didn't wiggle about in front of me waving its little fins in that 'oh so tempting' manner. So this morning I climbed onto the work surface in order to check on its well being only to discover it missing.

Just after my discovery I heard some rapid hammering outside and then Blob came in from the garden carrying something wrapped in newspaper and a hammer.

I'm not sure, but I think two incidents were somehow connected. She wasn't even cross with me being on the worksurface.

I shall continue to take a keen interest in the sushi and will report back if any more of their number vanish.

Just off to polish my magnifying glass and to dust the mothballs off my deer stalker.

Bob

What rhymes with Coalition

To be honest, I don't actually know what coalition is, but it appears to be upsetting the Blob wot feeds me.

'Bob', she said, 'Nothing has happened this year, nothing of note, nothing that i can connect to Santa.'

'And ...?' I replied helpfully

'Every damn year I manage to find something interesting.' She said,

'Me getting stung by a wasp not good enough for you?' I replied equally helpfully.

'Same war, same political argument, same environmental mess!' she ranted.

'Is it dinner time?' I asked.

Apparently the answer to that was No! But best not ask how I know!

Ooh, wood burner alight - time for basking!

Bob

WE'RE NOT DEAD

I have to start with that somewhat obvious statement, because Blobs sister rang the other day and asked if she and I were OK.

Apparently its the first thing she checks when she hasn't heard from Blob in a week or so and then because there had been no updates for a few weeks, she had to call to find out if we were dead or not.

Well, we're not!

Bob has been hogging all computer time playing daft games (again) and more recently has been designing the Epsom Air Scouts website.

To be honest, there hasn't been much to tell.

September is a funny old month with the potential for an indian summer although in this case, the likelihood of dropping temperatures and the beginning of a wet and windy Winter.

Things of interest this month were me getting stung by a sleepy wasp which was, according to Blob, my fault entirely because when she flicked it off the curtain into the garden I wasn't supposed to chase it. I limped for at least 20 minutes and what sympathy did I get? None as usual.

I discovered I rather like sweet and milky porridge. I only know this because Blob, in the style of the three bears left a bowl of porridge on the table to cool whilst she went upstairs and abluted.

When she came back she seemed to think i had had my face in it. An accusation that I hotly denied. However apparently the lumps of porridge on my chin and the milk dripping off my whiskers was a dead give away. Damn my fine whiskers!

One of my whiskers is going grey (nothing to do with porridge and milk) - something that seems to cause Blob more amusement that it perhaps warrants.

This weekend, although the heating is still very much off, the woodburner was lit and i have spent the first of hopefully many lethargic weekends, basking on my back whilst my tummy roasts. (Nearly as good as porridge).

October I expect will be a little more interesting, what with Halloween, Xmas poems and hopefully lots and lots of porridge!

Yours hopefully

Bob

x

Dieting Blues

The blues I am referring to in the title are not mine. Quite the opposite, I am feeling quite perky and full of the joys of the nearly upon us Autumn. The blues in this particular case belong to Blob. She who thought it apt to cut my supper in half is now feeling the full consequences of her decision.

I have so far managed to keep her up for three nights; twice by trying to destroy the box of go-cat she keeps by the bed, and once by trying to eat her left foot.

I have run raids on her suppers for a week and so far have managed to get away with two pieces of liver (one of them whilst she was trying to find me after I'd pinched the first bit!), a rasher of bacon and although I didn't manage to get any steak, I did manage to render it inedible.

Its just a matter of time before she gives up.

Paws crossed that it is sooner rather than later.

Bob

x

Begrudgingly

It is with a dignified sniff, a curled lip and in high dudgeon that I can announce that Blob is well underway with her website.

I only allow this to be announced because she got up late this morning and didn' t have time to faff about with my food, and she gave me a whole pouch - hooray for getting up late!

I suspect I will be offered the remains of yesterdays pouch for supper tonight, which lets face it will not go down well, if atall, and we will have a repeat of yesterdays tantrum in which i tried to destroy the house.

But for now, I have a full tummy and with a sneer I can announce that you may venture to
http://www.sarahholroyd.co.uk

Don't expect too much!

Bob

Half a Pouch!

Half a blooming pouch - I ask you. She got home tonight and said, "Bob!" Probably because that's my name, "Bob", she said, "You are on a diet with immediate effect."

I'll be honest, I wasn't sure what that meant, but I was sure it involved food - mainly because it was supper time and Blob was heading in the direction of the kitchen.

So I did my usual purring and rubbing routine because that usually ends with me getting food, and then bounced enthusiastically towards my bowl, only to be confronted with the smallest portion of cat food you have ever seen. As if it wasn't enough that i have to eat processed muck without a tail or pair of ears with it (granted that is probably my fault for not catching my own,) but to be confronted with a half portion - it wasn't on.

So cross was I, that i made a point of licking the fish food flakes off the floor and the work surface, and then rummaging through the clean laundry. I then tried to climb a plant pot and knock her diet coke over before i collapsed, too weak to do anything due to lack of nutrition.

Its been all I could do to get this, possibly my last ever blog, out to my viewing public.

Yours falteringly

Bob

A rose by any other name ...

The above is a part quotation from a play by some dude called Shakespeare. It means that what ever you call a rose, it is still a thorny bush in the garden.

However when its me getting called names I do tend to get a bit cross.

Heres a list of things that Blob called me over the course of the last weekend!

• Grumpy old goat
• Miserable moggy
• Fat Face
• Oi Porky
• Blimey look at the size of that stomach
• MOVE! (That one was shouted)
• I SAID MOVE! (That one was shouted louder)
• Grumpster
• Sulky Sal
• Great big lummox

And those were the ones I remembered - the others just faded into the miserable ether!

I am such a sad Bob at the moment ... When's Supper?

Bob

Good Books!

She's trying to get round me now. Today she went out and bought me a present which she brought home and then spent half an hour putting it all up for me in the garden.

In the words of the great Rolf Harris "Can you guess what it is yet?"

Probably not, but wait no longer - she purchased from B&Q a bird feeding set!

There is a peanut hangy thing, a seed hangy thing, some ball hangy things and a hanging frame for what looks and tastes like dripping.

I'm fine with the hangy things, but I cant reach the dripping.

Stupid Blob put it too high up. She got quite cross when she was putting it together and I walked off with a corner of the dripping thing. To be honest, I know she wanted it to attract birdies for me and if I steal some, then I get less birdies. But her language was unacceptable and anyway I'm big boned and that's all there is to it!

So to get back to business, tomorrow I shall be mainly sitting in the garden waiting for birdies.

Best get some sleep!

Bob

Nooooooooo!

How dare she. The ungrateful blob has done it now!

If it wasn't for the opposable thumb, i would really kick off and kick her out but i still cant get into pouches by myself.

Shes gone and created herself a website. Not content with me telling people what was going on (if anything) in her boring blob like life, shes now telling people herself.

Apparently it is still under construction, but as soon as she has something to show, she thinks she'll be putting a link to it on my blog.

Yeah right! Like thats going to happen.


Bob

Who'd of thought it.

This morning, I was fast asleep, curled up in my duvet whilst Blob struggled to get herself under a corner (she really needs to lose some weight - then she'd fit better under the corner that I leave her.

Anyway, I was asleep, and suddenly there was a whole load of banging and shouting. The other Blob came tearing into my room and woke up Blob.

"Quick, there's Police smashing next doors front door in."

Well I've never seen Blob move so fast and the two Blobs peeped out of windows and got all excited about a dawn raid on their neighbours house. There were even dogs being brought in in order to sniff out whatever it was the neighbours had been caught doing.

Drugs or money they reckon, although the second blob reckoned it might be people trafficking, until my Blob pointed out that you wouldn't need a dog to sniff out an illegal immigrant in houses our size. Its not like anyone could hide under the floor boards or in the airing cupboard and need a dog to sniff them out - not unless the policemen in question had extremely bad eyesight, and if that were the case, then they wouldn't be policemen - would they?

And during all this excitement, what was I doing? Hiding under the bed, is what I was doing!

That is until, Blob, who wanted a closer look at the policemen, wandered into the front garden under the guise of someone calling the cat!

"Bob!" she called, and "Bob!" again. She made a cursory scan of the bushes and smiled at the Policemen whilst calling "Bob!" once more. However her cover was blown when I decided to see what she wanted and followed her out of the front door. Embarrassed doesn't cover it!

I am a bad kitty!!!

Bob

Breathing My Last ... Maybe.

Where was I?

Oh yes, Blob had deserted me, the tv, the sofa and her bed for a tent in the New Forest.

But she hadn't gone alone - oh no - she was accompanying the 8th/14th Epsom Air Scouts on their Summer Camp.

"Ha", I thought, "Blob stuck for a week with a load of kids, that'll learn her," but no, she had a ball and came back with a huge smile on her face, very brown arms and shoulders and all the smells on her clothes smelt of good times, albeit a bit pungent good times, but good times nonetheless.

Blob has discovered that she is particularly good with 10 - 14 year olds. To my mind this is because she has not progressed maturity wise since that point, and I doubt if she would disagree!

She enjoyed their company so much that she ate with them most nights, and is still alive. She watched over them as they went climbing, abseilling and doing the leap of faith and she actually joined in when they did the zip wire.

She also flirted with all the instructors, lectured anyone that would listen about the damage we are doing to the environment, and drank cider (obviously not when the Scouts were looking)!

So this is what Blob does in preference to spending quality time with me, especially since i have a disease - have I told you about my disease?

She is back now, she spent a day in Glasgow this week, but is now happily slobbed out on the sofa watching Casualty and in a few minutes i will be crashed out across her legs.

Happy Happy Days (Apart from the disease bit)

Bob

Apologies

I am truly sorry that my Blog has been somewhat neglected over the past few weeks, however it would be fair to say that I too have been neglected, proportionally in fact to the neglect of my Blog.

Blob has seen fit to spend time in Leeds, Birmingham, Newcastle, Bristol during the weeks, leaving the other blob to feed me. She has then spent her weekends either sleeping, entertaining or doing boot fairs.

So what do I do whilst Blob is having a fun and active life ... I sit on the sofa and wait for her ... I eat ... I sleep ... I hide in the front garden in case she comes home ... I think up unpleasant things to do to the other blob ... I do unpleasant things to the other Blob ... More eating ... More sleeping ... More unpleasantness.

At last however, I cottoned on to the fact that she had a week off coming up, and my little feline mind was filled with happy pictures of lazy mornings in bed and equally lazy afternoons on the sofa!

My happy feline thoughts were in this case wrong.

Friday afternoon, she came home early, and promptly shoved me into a box and took me to the vets. There they stuck me with a needle and told us that I had peridentalthingummywotsit disease.

A disease! I have a disease! So what does Blob do ... takes a cursory look at her insurance papers, decides that my disease isn't covered, decides that she cant afford it and that is that.

So I have a disease and Blob is too mean to get me fixed. I ask you, what sort of a home is this?

Then whilst i am still coming to terms with the fact that I have a disease that will not be fixed cos Blob is too cheap to fix it, she packs up the car with her camping stuff and sods off to the New Forest for a week.

She left me! I could be dying! Granted I have no idea what peridentalthingummywotsit disease is, but i could be breathing my last, and she left me!

Too traumatised just thinking about it to continue .....

Bob

A Literary Dilemma

My Blob has a lot of books. There are books everywhere, stacked, piled and even boxed. I would guess that this is because Blob likes books. And I would be correct. Blob loves to read but this week she has bitten off a little more than she can chew.

Firstly when she was in Cornwall a couple of weeks ago, she read a book called Evermore. She didn't realise that it was a 'teen' book, but it was easy reading and she wanted the second and then the third book in the series.

Last year she read the entire series of Charlaine Harris "True Blood" novels and was looking forward to the next one to come out in paperback.

Some time ago she read all the Douglas Adams books and thought that that would be the end of that, seeing as he is dead and all.

She is also an avid reader of Robert Rankin and is always looking for further paperback by this writer to read.

She was also looking forward for the paperback version of the latest Dan Brown novel which apparently comes out on the 21st July.

So cleverly using the interweb and a lunch time jaunt to WH Smiths, she has now the following dilemma...

A fresh clean and book smelling copy of:

• Shadowland, the next book in the 'teen' series.
• Dead and Gone the next book in the True Blood Series.
• And Another Thing, which is part 6 of three - a continuation to the HitchHikers Guide to the Galaxy, but this time written skillfully by Eoin Colfer which is frighteningly like the originals.
• Necrophenia - a Robert Rankin novel.
• The Lost Labyrinth - shes not sure what this is but she needed to get it for the buy one get one half price deal.

She now has until the 21 July to finish all the above because thats when the Dan Brown book turns up.

Her dilemma only lasted a few minutes to be honest, she has now officially started all of them.

I hope its not me she wakes up when she has nightmares!

Bob

Bees!

This is really the summer of bees. What with Blobs mate Denise growing bees and Bob making a completely rubbish bee house out of a milk carton which is now homing a couple of spiders, we now have our own Bees.

Last year Blob grew trailing lobelia in a green plastic hangy thing with holes in it. This year she ignored it, and today there are three bees carrying bits of leaf into it and evidently making a home.

Blob is a little reticent about it because although she was quite prepared to home vagrant and asbo bees who had no hive, she is not sure quite what a 'team' of bees making a home in an old hanging planter means to the garden.

"What if they are terrorist bees?" she mumbled through the patio door glass watching them from a safe distance, "What if they decide to territorise my garden and wont let me in it?"

"Were they wearing balaclavas?" I asked, "Were they wielding semi-automatics and machetes? - No?, then unlikely. By the way is it time for second supper?"

Blob sometimes has severe sense of humour failures - no wonder she cant get a bloke.

Looks like its nothing til breakfast then.

Bob