Dinner Rocked!

Well Blob did it. She managed all the things on her list and she cooked a superb meal which was nearly healthy and she and Donna had a fun evening.

There was no starter, but Blob thought that was pretentious for two people and because Donna and Blob are both complete lushes, they drank a bottle of wine and called it a starter.

The main course consisted of a warm chicken and mango salad. It was yummy. She marianaded the chicken pieces in port, ginger, lea and perrins, spring onions, assorted seeds and lemon juice. And I know it was good because I got some of the chicken. This was only because i gave them the choice of 'give me chicken or i will be on the work surface stealing chicken'!

I got a couple of bits but reckon my luck had run out when a cork was hurled in my general direction. She has quite an impressive aim considering the amount of wine she consumed.

With the salad, she served home made bread rolls and butter. ( I got a lick of the butter when Blob wasn't looking. Although I think she may possibly have noticed the tongue marks a bit later.)

For pudding she baked apples stuffed with sultanas, blueberries, cinnamon and ginger and served with home made custard (eggs, skimmed milk, sweetener, vanilla and nutmeg.) It didn't go lumpy or anything.

Anyway, Donna loved it and they both ate and drank until they could eat and drink no more.

Her back was quite bad in the evening, but there was a marked improvement this morning. It only took her about half an hour to be comfortable enough to sit down and believe me - that is a real improvement. This could possibly be due to healing jiggery pokery from Denise. So on the off chance it was - Thank you!

Later this week, we will be posting the long awaited Part 3 of the Mystery of the Cornish Ice Cream or something of that nature.

Can't wait!

Bob.

Not a Cornwall Story ...

You may be expecting Part 3 of our Cornish Saga, but we have to interrupt this transmission because of events here in my house. Blob and for those of you who don't know, Blob is the big pink Blob wot looks after me when she can be bothered, has hurt her back.

One might possibly ask - 'what stupid activity was she taking part in in order to hurt her back?' to which the honest answer would be, 'In this particular instance, she was doing nothing, be it stupid or otherwise.'

No, really, she woke up on Monday morning just gone unable to stand. She muddled through a couple of days, then gave in and went to see the Osteopath who according to Blob is a very nice man. So nice in fact that she spends 45 minutes with him and comes home and cries because he's hurt her so much.

She has seen him twice this week, and i'm not sure - mainly because i'm no expert - but i think the pain is subsiding a little bit and her mobility is beginning to increase although watching her struggle out of bed and crawl to the bathroom on all fours is quite amusing (especially when i jump on top for a ride! You should hear the language!)

The real test will be tomorrow because she has a friend coming for dinner, and she has a list as long as her arm of things to do. Actually, that's a silly phrase - no idea where it came from - Blobs list is as long as an A5 piece of paper. It might as well be as long as her arm however, because she is going to take twice as long as she should because at the moment she cant bend or lift.

Actually she can bend a little because I'm still getting fed, and that involves bending.

Which means its not all bad!

I will update soon.

Bob.

Cornwall? Part 1

There's incredulity brewing at chez moi at the moment, but so you'll understand fully, ill give you the story from the beginning. This is a tale that will require splitting into parts and this is Part 1.

About a year ago Blobs mother rang and the conversation as far as I could hear went something like this:

Mother: Hello darling, I'm moving!

Blob: OK?

Mother: I'm moving to Cornwall.

Blob: Yes?

Mother: Well I'm going to die.

Blob: What, like next Tuesday?

Mother: Well I was thinking of Friday week!

Blob: I suppose that's a blessing.

Mother: Well what I mean to say is that one day my house will be your's and Rachaels.

Blob: I expect so.

Mother: So I wanted to know where you like me to buy a house.

Blob: Right.

Mother: So where would you want me to buy one?

Blob: Bermuda!

Mother: No, I'm moving to Cornwall.

Blob: So why ask me?

Mother: Because you and Rachael will own it one day.

Blob: And?

Mother: Well I wanted to get something in a place that you and Rachael would like.

Blob: So Bermuda is out of the question then?

Mother: Yes, I'm moving to Cornwall.

Blob: I don't want a house in Cornwall.

Mother: But you'll get it one day.

Blob: So why are you asking me for my preferences?

Mother: Because one day it will be yours and Rachaels....................................

I got a headache at this point and went to bed. But hopefully I have set the scene.

And here endeth Part 1.

Bob

Not Me!

Yet again we have a picture of a cat that is not me. In fact it is nothing like me.

The cat in this picture is a hairy, overweight cat that is somewhat shabby around the edges. See! Nothing like me!
I am also not a sociable creature - I have no friends and don't socialise - but this is not a complaint - It's how I like it, and in spite of my big pink Blob's irritating habit of squishing me on a regular basis and tickling my tummy - that is how it is going to stay!

Any more of these ridiculous pictures and I will certainly have something to say about it.

Bob.

It's quite libellous in my opinion.

Blob's gone and done it again! Written a load of rhyming claptrap in an attempt to impress but this time its all about me.

Before you read such libellous rubbish, I want to point out the following:

I have no limp;

I have all my toes;

The hole in my ear healed up;

The kink in my tail straightened out after the anti-biotics.

I will admit that my habits are sometimes questionable, but lets face it I'm a cat!

My Mate Bob

My mate Bob

Is a big, black cat.

He’s hard and mean

And he’s nearly fat,

But I don’t love him

Less for that.

My mate Bob

Goes out at night.

He likes a drink

And he likes a fight.

He’s got a hole

In his left ear.

But I don’t love him

Less, I fear.

My mate Bob

Goes hunting mice

He plays then kills,

It’s not that nice.

He leaves their blood

On the kitchen floor

But I don’t love him

Less or more.

My mate Bob

Likes chasing cars,

He arm wrestles

In grotty bars.

He has a limp

Where he lost a toe

But I don’t love him

Less you know.

My mate Bob

Isn’t soft or sweet,

He hangs about

On the dangerous streets.

His neck is bald

And his tail is kinked

But I don’t love him

Less I think.

Oh my mate Bob

Is big and mean.

His temper’s bad

And his habits ain’t clean

But he purrs as he

Curls up on my bed.

I couldn’t love him

More! ‘Nuff said.

Like I said, absolute twaddle!

Bob

All by myself.

Don't wan't to be all by myself anymore.

Thats a human song, but oh so relevant at the moment.

She went away again - left me all on my own for the night. The other blob was there but its not the same.

I had bite marks all over my head and my left ear and the other blob never once noticed. Probably because she is what they call allergic to fur, and getting close to me is quite out of the question, let alone picking me up and making sure i was all in one piece.

So when my blob got home last night i tried to show her all my sore bits whilst she was getting ready for bed and when she showed no inclination to have a look, i made her see them by trying to sit on her face when she was in bed.

Did she stroke me? No!

Did she lovingly check out the scabs and make sure there was no infection? No!

Did she say trite things like "Who's been hurting my little bob?" No!

She pushed me away with the words "Get your stinky bottom out of my face Cat!", then turned over and went to sleep.

There's words for blobs like her - both human and cat words come to think of it. But I don't want to offend my followers so I wont regale you with them.

Off to tend my wounds now seeing as no one else will.

Bob

Oh my gawd - what next?!

I'll keep this short, but blob has just written what she calls a poem (or to be more technically correct a 'Verse' I believe that there is a technical difference, but Blob says that grown ups write poems so she writes verse - she says that she gets more fun that way).

To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what a poem or a verse is, but here it is anyway.

Its called The Path

"Oh happy hippy woman

You always wear a smile,

Although the world whirls round you,

And has done for a while.”

“How do you stay so calm

Whilst the chaos hits the fan?

I need to know your secret,

Please tell me, if you can.”

The happy hippy woman

Smiled her happy hippy smile,

And said “Of course I’ll tell you

If you can sit a while.

If you stay and watch the flowers grow

And share a herbal tea,

I’ll tell you all you want to know –

Just spend some time with me.”

“Oh happy hippy woman

With your happy hippy smile,

I don’t have the time to linger.

I cannot stay a while.”

“For I am far too busy

With so many things to do.

I just can’t spare a minute

To sit a while with you.”

So the happy hippy woman

Smiled her happy hippy smile

And she hugged me oh so tightly

In her happy hippy style.

She said, “Then I can’t help you!”

And with a happy hippy laugh

She walked off to watch the flowers grow

Along her chosen path.

The style is apparently inspired by one of her favourites - Dr Seuss but that seems unimportant compared to the smile on her face as she went up to bed.

The only words I could make out as she passed me on the stairs were 'I'm Back!'

Strange goings on indeed.

Bob

And I thought it would never happen to me ...

Its taken a fortnight, but i have now come to the sudden and distressing realisation that i am in fact an Ebay Widower.

She, and by 'she' I mean the big pink blob that used to lavish affection and food on me, has deserted me in favour of selling her worldly belongings on Ebay.

From the minute she gets home to the minute she leaves for work in the morning she is typing away 'clickety clickety' and taking photos and wrapping things up in bubble wrap 'rustle rustle'.

[Clickety Clickety]

I shall check in a minute to see if i have been fed this evening, or if i am expected to call out for a take away. I quite fancy a chicken korma tonight, or perhaps pizza, but either way the one thing you can count on is that I will be eating alone.

[Rustle Rustle]

Oh yippee - she just sold Crocodile Shoes II. Some obscure album that she bought back in the Nineties has now been foisted off onto an unsuspecting stranger.

[Clickety Rustle]

And what is she spending her money on? Well the latest acquisition is an old Jack Nicholson film of the type that she is currently selling to anyone that will buy.

[Clickety]

You know what - sod this for a game of soldiers - i'm off to bed and she can Clickety and Rustle all blooming night for all i care.

Yours aggrievedly

Bob.