Wicker

hello blog, I am writing to you as there is absolutely fuck all else to do.

This morning I have got up very early to go to 'boot camp' with Wicker - this is a very fashionable thing to do, I have read about it in gossip magazines. By all accounts it is running and jumping around Highbury Fields at 6:20 in the morning with a few like minded fashionable girls being chased and shouted at by one really tough woman, I imagine it's a lot like the end of a Benny Hill episode and a little bit like the beginning of Full Metal Jacket.

howevs > after I have rolled my sorry self out of bed at ten to cocking six in the morning (Janit is well confused - she thinks i must be going on holiday or something), had a little bird bath, put clothes on and generally woken my self right up - the shouty lady in charge sends wicker a text to say there is no boot camp this morning because it is raining (fyi it is not raining in Stoke Newington so I very much fucking doubt it is raining in Highbury Fields - well it is raining a little bit but it's not really raining - in my opinion it's not raining unless you can hear that it is raining).

So here I find myself: wide awake and pottering around the house at 6:30 in the morning... I don't have to leave for work for three hours so just what the fuck am i supposed to do? > ... I have ended up trying to do everything really slowly and carefully to waste time - like separating tea bags before putting them in the caddy, actually watching the tea brew, opening the scots porridge oats properly like the instructions say instead of just rippin it open to confirm that it does not 'easily close again' if you do it like what it says (managing to stop myself from getting a stanley blade 'to really do it properly' OH EM GEE > OH SEE DEE) and then write a blog about it.

welcome to my amazing life

Dear Janit,

I feel it only appropriate that you should receive nothing but the sternest reprimand for your disgraceful behavior in company. I refer explicitly, to our recent visits from Wicker's Mother. At every possible opportunity you acted as a spoiled child, hornswoggling her for extra food, demanding attention, then squirming like an eel when she tried to pick you up and stubornly rebuking any and all displays of actual affection. Also of note was your repeated whinging and whining and sulking and hiding - all this to say nothing of the bare faced lies about our 'starving you for sport'.

She asked me if you were a rescue cat for pity's sake. This conduct will not be tolerated again.

Love always

Crispin

Dear Janit

I have it on good authority that while i was away last week you were caught thre times by Wicker 'Baking Brownies' on the living room rug. Now these dirty protests MUST STOP. You are not in prison, you are not maltreated, you are not a rescue cat, you have a litter box and it is always clean.

I am at my wits end and furious beyond measure. I swear, as God is my witness, if you drop tuppence on the rug one more time i shall shave your tail and put your toys in the cupboard forever.

I strongly advise you to take heed as this truly is your final warning.

so we are going to move again because this brick hutch is shit, it's too small, a fucking stupid shape and there is a cooker in front of one of the cupboards. Also living here I am paying for things i don't give a fuck about. For example I reckon I pay about ten quid a week to live on a quaint cobbled brick street - that is just annoying when you ride a bike, I am not the fucking Hovis kid.