Doris

Doris (2003-2023)

It's been a sad week this week, I don't mind telling you. We lost a family member on Thursday. Doris had been with us a couple of months shy of 20 years when she took her final bow and disappeared behind the curtain one last time; walking into the vet's with a cat in a basket and leaving 30 minutes later with the same empty basket is something we've had to do on more than one occasion - but it never gets any easier. She was the sweetest natured animal I think we've ever had. Rest easy, little one. And say hello to Tom for us.

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In other (more cheerier) news, Georgie is now officially 11½ carpet stripes long. Although he keeps looking for Doris I think he knows, deep down, she's not coming back...

P.S.

I couldn't not post my favourite picture of Tom: it was taken when we were living up in North Yorkshire and about to hang 'his' painting.

Calling a spade a spade

Borrowing my friend Jane's turfing spade to form a new border (for Doris to sunbathe in) cost me dearly the other day. After inadvertently hitting rock, the tool buckled beneath the weight of my size nines and soon took on the appearance of a bizarre Uri Geller experiment.

Turns out the spade in question is a family heirloom dating back to the turn of the nineteenth century and was reputedly used to tend the gardens in nearby Castle Howard. Apparently you can't put a price on it. You can, however, put a price on a Spear and Jackson modern day replacement. Whether or not Jane ever speaks to me again, on the other hand, is anyone's guess.

Iron out

The news today that the iron is being dropped by Monopoly will surely have John Waddington spinning in his grave. Don't get me wrong, I like cats: some of my best friends are cats, but a cat has no place on a Monopoly board. For what it's worth, I'm always the top hat when I play; any future moves to axe my titfer of choice will be met with the appropriate measured response. Let's just hope, for everyone's sake, we never reach that point.

Dodgy

Apologies for the delay in starting 2011, but I've not been well. Like you wouldn't believe: I think I did Christmas and New Year on autopilot - however, normal service has now been resumed. And for that I can't thank my very own Florence Nightingale enough for being there when it mattered (I guess that's what they mean by that whole 'for better or worse' malarkey).

Anyway, just got time to say that we've now got tix for the first gig of the new year. Dodgy (Nottingham Central Fri 21 Jan), it must be said, probably released the most consistently fab grooves of all the Britpop movers and shakers of the time. If you want three essential albums of the early 90s you can forget Oasis and Blur; The Dodgy Album, Homegrown and Free Peace Sweet capture the (don't worry, I'm not going to say the z word) very spirit of that whole TFI Friday buzz that defined the fag end of the last century. Bostin.

I interviewed Nigel Clark a few years back and remember telling him that this was the best song he'd ever written. He didn't disagree.

The feline models at the top of the page btw are our very own Tom and Doris, who proudly posed for Phill Jupitus' Pets In Band Tee Shirts gallery.

We've arrived (and to prove it we're here)

So, we're at the 'new place.' It feels good and it feels right. Apart from the last tearful look 'round to make sure we'd left nothing behind (and the equally tearful goodbyes to friends and neighbours) the whole moving process went pretty much like clockwork; unlike many things in life these days.

Thanks to the Number One Son and his fair maiden we're all broadbanded up and are now looking forward to the mammoth task of getting straight. Last night saw me handling cooking duties (rustic meatballs, since you ask) with Mrs M looking beautiful and toasting our new future. Meanwhile Tom and Doris were doing that exploring thing that all cats do when they've been beamed up to a new planet.

I like it here.