The Cat in the Hat-field


I’ve been away so long that I rather imagine everyone’s given up reading this site now.

Two weeks – two weeks! – with just one measly “test card” update to say “Nothing has changed here”, except for a paradoxical message saying nothing has changed. That’s where a polytechnic degree in Philosophy will get you, folks.

I may still not be quite with it after last week’s illness.

Anyway, break in service due to being, first of all, busy, and second of all, ill.

I had a nasty cold last week which left me off work and in bed. I should point out that it wasn’t “flu”. It wasn’t nasty enough to be flu, so let’s call it a gale-force cold. Fortunately plenty of milky tea and This Morning saw me through it.

We were supposed to be taking Millie to Hatfield to see her grandparents-in-law on Friday, but I wasn’t well enough to go, and had to straggle up there rather belatedly on Saturday, spreading snot and tissues everywhere I went, like some kind of sticky benefactor.

But we had a lovely time once we we were all there. Millie, particularly, spent the whole weekend getting desperately overexcited at the merest glimpse of the cat, Fergus. She’s crawling very well indeed now, up hill and o’er dale, into bins and ovens, off of tables and across sharp, gravelly patches.

And she covered all these different types of terrain to keep up with Fergus. When she caught up with him though – and whilst in pursuit you may as well have stuck a blue light on her head, as she emitted a police siren-like sound the whole time – no “stealth baby” this. 

Anyway, when she caught up with “The Hairy Baby” (as we call all cats now) despite the excitement, trepidation would always set in and Millie would stop about a foot away from him.

You could see the conflict going on in her head: her hand would reach out to touch Fergus…and then snap back. Her eyes would be wide, she’d wail in a mixture of nervousness and wonder, reach out again, nervously pull her hand back, then look at me, look at Fergus and then… GRAB his ear! Or his tail. Or just a handful of fur.

Fortunately, Ferg is a placid old thing, and quite obviously has the patience of a saint, because regardless of the number of decibels Millie emitted and her endless attempts to manhandle him he never showed us his claws, just wandered away to the other side of the garden.

Where he would be followed by a small, screeching child. Poor Ferg.

There are some lovely new pictures below. If I can find time between revising my CV, filling in some badly-thought out application forms and trying to fit a wireless network at home I’ll try and add one or two more.

But I warn you now – don’t hold your breath. The garden is also competing for my attention (ooh, we’ve had some delicious tomatoes from there these past couple of weeks!), as are some book reviews, about seven films I’ve recorded, and five new CDs waiting to be given a listen.

And some DIY, too. I’d rather not talk about that, though. We’ve got this coming weekend “free”, so the Lovely Melanie has pencilled me in for various “jobs” that have been on the “To-Do” list for many months.

So I’d better get on with it, hadn’t I, rather than talking to you.

Millie, by the way, still has no teeth. She, is, however, becoming ever more interactive and social. She knows to say “Ma-ma-ma-ma” when she wants something, and “Da-da-da-da” when she wants to play.

We can put her down on the floor in the living room and she’ll scamper down the hallway to her room (our new laminate flooring in the hallway makes that so much easier now) within about 20-30 seconds, and we’ll hear her getting busy in her room, such that, when we slowcoach grown-ups finally get there, you can see the exact route she’s taken through her room – lights knocked over, blankets pulled off low shelves, cupboards doors opened, books stripped from bookcases… rather like a little tornado has torn through it; and then you’ll come to Millie, probably underneath a table, picking up and eating all the dust balls from underneath a chest of drawers, and humming to herself.

You try and tell people that she was born three months premature – they won’t believe you! 🙂

And finally…
What big, important news stories didn’t you hear about in the past year?
These news stories, that’s which ones..

I don’t expect anyone to read all the way through that page (it’s a pretty exhaustive list) but you might want to have a quick skim through – some of them sound really rather important.

At least the Tony Blair/Gordon Brown “domestic” isn’t on there. But I wouldn’t really call that news, personally.

Definitely finally: do you not think there’s a great English version of new film Crank waiting to be made? In the UK remake Hugh Grant plays an upper-class English hitman who is injected with a poison that will kill him if he is embarrassed by anything.

It’s more of a comedy than a thriller, I suspect.

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