Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Friday, August 01, 2003

I'm a Bad Babysitter

Although my boyfriend is not in your shower - he’s currently in south London working on some packaging for Tweenies, or something. No, I’m a bad babysitter because we do have two luverly cats in our palatial houseshare going by the names of Gilbert and George, with something terrible befalling one of them yesterday - and it’s all my fault. Oh, I feel very guilty.
Of the two, Gilbert’s a noisy little sod who is two coupons short of a pop-up toaster, and perpetually bringing back dead animals to show off - including on one instance, the back end of a pig. How he did this, we just don’t know. Whereas his sister George is the charming girl-cat is so loving and sweet and has no real sense of balance – and thus is a joy to behold in a will-she-won’t-she wobbling walk across the fence. She normally comes and sees me at seven in the morning to stand outside my door and mew for breakfast. Yesterday she did as normal, pottered around the bedroom and followed me out downstairs. I fed her, went back up to get my mobile, and then went to work as carefree and winsome as ever humming Girls Aloud’s No Good Advice.
Post-work fun included meeting up with Gertie in the gym for a gay old time with the weights (I have discovered when you hit the little hand ones together they go 'ting!’ like hand cymbals) and then down Site Bar for a couple of bottles of Dame Vera Smirnoff. I staggered back around midnight, and chatted to lovely lesbisexual housemate Kim for a little while, then went off to bed. Upon opening the door to my palatial boudoir, I find dear little George sitting there on my bed with a pained look on her face and her legs crossed, clearly not being near a litter tray all day. She bolted out with such speed, she left behind a spinning number plate with 'Outatime‘ on it.
I’m a bad man. And dear George thinks I did it deliberately and won’t come near me.

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