Vuvuzelas

It’s not the football I mind, it’s the whining noise like a loud mosquito in your ears all the time, going on and on, drowning out the commentary. And when Jason stops talking about i-phones the trumpets are also pretty annoying too (ha ha, see what I did there).

Met a mum coming out of nursery and her little boy held hands with Rose all the way over the zebra crossing and up to the corner. He has never agreed to hold Rose’s hand that long before, normally he screams no hand! and runs away. Typical bloke.

I was putting away the buggy when I hear Rose shout “Mouse!” from the front room. There she was, stroking a bloody great dead rat. Well it was quite a small rat actually, but very much bigger than any rat you would want in your house, even post mortem. This is the last straw for the black tom that comes into our house and pisses on the curtains. It’s clearly a total meat head as our cats are both neutered. So no point adding them to his harem, is there? And bringing them tributes of livestock is just a waste of time. Anyway after putting up with his pissings for years now, I’ve ordered one of those catflaps where the cat has to scan itself in like the self-checkouts at the supermarkets. In theory the tom won’t be able to push his way in. If it does I don’t know what I’ll do. Take him to the vets for a little op under an assumed name maybe.

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