Author: paula.napier

Thursday 8th October 2020

Queenie’s brother and his wife came to visit for the first time in a year, this week. They brought their youngest grandchild, Asher with them. He mostly crawls on all fours like a cat but without the grace and everything had to be cleared away out of his reach. Talk about high-maintenance! I’m not a fan of “toddlers” as they don’t understand the etiquette of interacting with pets. I eyed him suspiciously from the back of the sofa as he pointed at me, shouting “Tat!” All I can say is, Queenie did warn them to keep the child away from me but they got distracted and pulling himself up by the arm of the chair, he grabbed my tail and got a swift cuff, in response. I have to say I’ve never seen a mouth open so wide. Following a moment of shocked silence, he let out this horrendous noise which brought attention straight back to him and a great deal of over-reaction to what amounted to a very small wound. Queenie shouted over the din, that given the dysfunctional family genes Asher would doubtless have inherited, a small facial scar would pale into insignificance compared to the personality disorders he’d be bound to develop. In any event, he had to learn to respect animals! With a smile, she shoved a treat in his vast expanse of mouth and peace was soon restored. Ears ringing, I decided to go down to Alfred’s (Number 16) until they’d all left. 

This week, due to COVID, Jeff reluctantly had to cancel this year’s pantomime. For the past eight years, the amateur dramatic group, The Avenue Residents’ Theatre Society  (TARTS) have rehearsed in the local community hall at the end of the street. Last year, they staged Puss in Boots. I was happy to take the lead role but for some reason, I wasn’t asked and it went to Mrs Waters. For the duration of rehearsals, Jeff, as TARTS ‘Resident Director’, took to wearing a colourful cashmere scarf slung casually around his shoulders and dark-rimmed spectacles and minced around the stage throwing artistic fits of pique. The main bone of contention was the cast was uncontrollable. Gary the builder, played the Ogre and was perpetually late for rehearsals and Jodie, who was given the role of the princess couldn’t be bothered to turn up half the time. By the week of the actual play, Jeff had aged ten years and had to spend afternoons in a darkened room, with a migraine and a cold compress on his forehead. According to the local paper, the reporter said the performance was like watching, “Deranged chimpanzees on acid!” This was only partly due to an unplanned change to the storyline, where the Ogre went completely off piste and married the Princess. Puss (drunk) subsequently fell off the stage in her oversize boots, onto the pianist and had to be taken to hospital with a badly sprained paw! The pianist broke her nose on impact with the piano keys, resulting in what looked like a keyboard massacre. The reporter went onto say, the performance was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and it was more “Left of Field than West End.” This year, Jeff announced, the group would be performing a socially distanced carol concert in the grounds of the local Care Home. All residents of The Avenue have been encouraged to join the pop-up choir, with rehearsals scheduled on Zoom. Roll on Christmas…

Tap on video to hear Merlot’s song

Thursday 1st October 2020

Mike and Jackie’s son Dylan has gone back to university to begin his second year. When he arrived home after his first year, he was suffering from weight loss, scurvy and showing signs of rickets. Jackie said she thought she’d prepared him for independence and although he was doing a history degree, she hadn’t bargained for him living life like a seventeenth century sailor i.e. Staying for most of the time in a confined, dark space and living in squalor, on a diet of mouldy bread and porridge. 

Jodie from Number 27 has a new boyfriend, Seb. He’s also going back to school to re-take his ‘A Levels’, having had his “life ruined” by the Education Secretary. However, there isn’t a great deal of evidence that either of them are working enough to get the grades for university and Brian is getting increasingly frustrated to find Seb and worse, his trainers in the hallway, every evening when he returns from work. Aside from the total lack of academic application, Seb has a terrible foot odour problem, made worse by the fact he refuses to wear trainer socks. On Tuesday afternoon, Brian arrived home unexpectedly, in a bad mood, with the vein in his temple visibly throbbing, through irritation. Overcome by the noxious smell of Seb’s feet, he flung all the windows and doors open and deposited the offending footwear at the end of the driveway. To make things worse, their stupid dogs kept bringing them back into the house and leaving them on the kitchen floor. Fuming, Brian put them “out of reach” on the adjoining wall to next door and within two hours, Fernanda from number 29 had called the Council to report a serious problem with the drains.

Hector and Martha from Number 23  decided to adopt one of the parrots who needed re-homing due to owners ‘working from home’ being unable to cope with their incessant noise. Hector had one when he was a boy and he convinced Martha it would remind them of the beautiful Caribbean birds of their childhood. Very excited, Hector purchased a giant cage full of enrichment toys and Kiki arrived at her new home with aplomb. From the moment Hector saw her lovely green and red plumage, he fell in love and had to wipe a nostalgic tear from his eye. However, on the first night in her adopted home, quietly regarding her new surroundings and watching Hector and Martha enjoying their evening meal, she suddenly put her head on one side and screeched, “Will you JUST shut the f*** up! I’m on a Zoom meeting!” 

Thursday 24th September 2020

Christine and Barry live at Number 34. They had a small lottery win some fifteen years ago and have been spending their time between The Avenue and their flat in Costa Del Sol. Due to COVID, they decided to spend this summer in the UK. Originally from modest childhoods in Bethnal Green, where Barry’s father was a career criminal and Christine’s, a failed getaway driver, they feel very contented with their lot. Barry loves boats and recently, having purchased an inflatable dingy with an outboard motor, he’s become a member of the local yacht club. He and Christine spend their weekends having lunch at “The Club” and mingling with wealthy, sailing types. This Sunday, Christine, perpetually brown from years of laying on a Spanish sun bed and sporting yet a new set of acrylics, enjoyed a monster salad of crayfish and lobster. Meanwhile, her husband, bedecked in blazer and nautical trousers, sat, napkin tucked into his shirt collar, wrestling with a plate of mussels, engaging anyone who will listen, on a discourse about tide times. This is particularly relevant, as the bay is rocky and Barry’s particular vessel is susceptible to punctures. Whenever I find myself in their garden, the sun is perpetually “over the yard arm” and it’s “Sangria O’clock”. By six of an evening, Christine is invariably in a chick-flick coma and her ruby colour lipstick has begun to seep up through the expensively moisturised wrinkles around her mouth, giving her, at a quick glance, a sort of victim-of-homicide look. Barry meanwhile, arms resting on his ample stomach, sits holding a cuban cigar, in a hand bedecked with gold sovereign rings (a legacy from one of his late father’s more successful bank jobs). With an air of self-satisfaction and shrouded in cigar smoke, he belches and invites me aboard for a few leftovers. How could I refuse? 

On Friday, I sensed something was wrong as I wasn’t allowed breakfast and Queenie was pacing around, not taking any notice of me hammering on the cat flap to get out. Eventually, I was put in the dreaded cat cage and placed in the car. Immediately I began to wail, in the hope some passer by would call the authorities and report my abduction. Queenie drove recklessly with her fingers stuck through the bars of the cage, trying to pacify me. After narrowly avoiding wiping out two elderly pedestrians on a zebra crossing and a head-on collision with a delivery van, she parked, carried me into the vets and handed me over to a woman in a mask who said she could collect me later that afternoon. That was the last thing I remembered. When I woke up in a strange room, I attempted to get to my paws but they didn’t work very well and I fell over, wondering if this was how Queenie felt at the end of most Friday nights. I waited for what seemed an eternity, during which I did a thorough check of my body to see if any thing was missing (given the last time I was put to sleep, I woke up unable to reproduce!). Finally and to my relief, Queenie came and collected me, muttering something about it costing a “King’s Ransom” to get my teeth cleaned and if only I’d been a little more co-operative, all this upset could have been avoided. Sitting in the car, feeling groggy and with a sore mouth, I wished I’d known the punishment for not accepting the brush and fish toothpaste ambush. In hindsight, I decided, I’d have much rather gone with that as an option! 

Thursday 17th September 2020

Queenie is ploughing her way through eleven series of Shameless, on Netflix. She said she missed it the first time around, as they were shown during a period of her life when she was  pretending to be sophisticated. Since she got over herself, she’s loving every episode and laughing like an old hyena.

Dan from Fresh Produce is moving into Marcus’s house. The relationship has only been going on for a few months but it’s full steam ahead and the Abba and Dusty Springfield LP’s are being combined with Judy Garland and George Michael, to make what Marcus described, as one fabulous Camp Collection. To celebrate their commitment, they are going to Tyler’s Tattoo’s to get each other’s name engraved for posterity or until they need laser removal. Alfred from Number 16, who was watching the movement of belongings, said things had changed since his day, when two men would have been arrested for living together unless they had the same surname or, for that matter, were part of the clergy. He added they were lovely lads and wished them well, despite their questionable taste in music.

On Tuesday, just as Queenie was off to work, she managed to drop my box of cat biscuits all over the kitchen floor, sending them skittering off to the farthest corners of the room. To the sound of various expletives, she started collecting them from one end of the kitchen, whilst I helped by hoovering some up from the other. Cometh the hour, cometh the cat!

Fernanda from Number 29 has self-published a book of poetry and she has invited the people of The Avenue to a Covid-compliant, candle-lit recital, in their back garden. To add to the ambience of the evening and to try to sell a few paintings on the back of a cheap glass of fizz, Sheridan had made the hallway and kitchen into a gallery for his paintings. Queenie had a peek through the window and thought it looked like someone had gone potty in an abattoir. Sadly, only a few people attended. Excuses ranged from sudden deafness to faulty front door locks. Gary from Number 11, always direct, said he felt depressed enough, “Without being subjected to disturbed canvases and mad poetry. Rather than disturb their neighbours’ psyche, why didn’t the pair of them just go and get medicated?”

On Sunday, Queenie watched the David Attenborough documentary on Extinction. Throughout the evening she kept shaking her head and muttering at the state of the world and how humans were destroying the planet and that none of the superpowers are really listening. In the end I felt so fed up, I went out and sat on the garden wall until it had finished, pondering on a world without cats. At the end of the programme, she rang her friend Michelle and said, as the future of the world was in jeopardy she was taking a vow to reduce her carbon footprint by drinking less coffee and substituting it with (a lot) more British wine. On a roll, she also vowed to boycott Argentinian sourced beef and Pringles and replace them with Hobnobs (made from sustainable palm oil). That, she announced with a steely determination, would be her contribution to saving the planet! Michelle pointed out she’d probably not be contributing for long, on that diet.

Thursday 10th September 2020

Queenie is still working from home a few days a week, which I enjoy because I can help her. You could describe me as her Personal Assistant. Most days she sits typing away on her lap top, whilst I wander over her keyboard to add a personal touch to her documents. If she fails to proof-read before sending to her colleagues they provoke a lot of emails asking her to clarify what, “I would recommend you 5^h*()+” or “I need you to ~CE$HMUKOP, as soon as possible”, means? I have a chair next to her, with my cushion and exhausted with her pace of work, I just nap and listen to her calls. It’s strange that most of the people she speaks to have the same name. I know this because when she hangs up, she frequently mutters under her breath, “Dick!”  

Speaking of Richard, Queenie had a date on Saturday with a massive Australian rugby player who bounded through the front door like an over-excited puppy. As you know, cats like calm people, so he irritated me from the off. I was just enjoying a snooze on the back of the sofa when he announced, loudly, “I’m good with cats!” And made a dive for my partially exposed stomach which he proceeded to rub roughly, saying, “You like that don’t you mate?” Clearly he reads his audience, like I’m led to believe, the new UK Trade Secretary…Offended by the assault, I rolled over and gave him a massive swipe with my paw, which immediately drew a fair quantity of blood from his finger. Staring at it in horror, he turned pale and his big knees buckled as he slumped down on the living room carpet. I got to my paws and stretched, thinking he must be a rubbish Prop if one left hook from a cat could take him down. When he came round, he made Queenie bandage his finger so he couldn’t see the blood and hobbled wanly, off to his car. Bye…Mate, I thought.

On Wednesday, Gary at number 11, finished installing an elaborate ensuite at Sheridan and Fernanda’s house. Sheridan, suggested he might like to take one of his paintings as payment instead of cash, as a bit of a tax dodge. Gary just stared at the artworks and back at Sheridan as if he’d gone completely mad, asking why he would want to hang something on his wall that looked: “Like road-kill”!

YOWL! Is proving an ongoing disappointment. I’ve swiped left so much I’m in danger of getting RSI of the paw. The queens on there seem to be all fur and feline-fillers and just pout at the camera with vacuous cattitude. I prefer the more natural look. There was one Canadian queen who seemed very nice but no sensible cat wants to leave their territory to travel even a modest distance, as before you know it, some opportunist has taken over and you have to start that defending thing again. It’s all too draining and time consuming. Let’s be honest, the only people who gain are the vets, who get to patch us up, afterwards. 

Last night, I caught sight of Lola carousing with a big British Blue. He was striding along, covered in bling, looking shifty-in-a-very-big-car-with-blacked-out windows, kind of way! 

Thursday 3rd September 2020

Last Friday, Lola went missing. Allegedly, she was last seen with a shifty looking tortoiseshell in the local park. Samantha was inconsolable and she put up laminated photographs of her on all the lamp-posts in nearby roads. All the cats in the neighbourhood put their differences aside and went looking for her whilst the humans checked their sheds and cellars in case she has got trapped somewhere. I wandered the streets for four nights on the trot calling and looking for her. Then, on Monday, there was a call from a local vet, saying she’d turned up and they’d located Samantha through her microchip. Lola looked very cagey when she arrived home and wouldn’t talk about where she’d been. The diamanté collar was gone too, which I was sure could only be a good omen. I told her I think we needed a break and she agreed (a little too readily, I felt). I went straight home and out of revenge, renewed my subscription to the YOWL! dating App. 

Queenie is doing still doing Zoom Yoga classes, as the Community Hall has yet to open due to the number of COVID hoops they would have to jump through to comply with regulations. She told Michelle, that whilst it isn’t the same as all being together in the one room, you can at least mute the sound as, when in a Downward Facing Dog, anything could happen! The most dignified position is obviously The Cat. I note she didn’t mention she can also nip off and get a coffee and digestive biscuit in the middle of the session and pretend to be on a bathroom break or taking an urgent call.

Matt and Chantel from Number 20 are pregnant. He told his mates at The Legless Goat pub, he had no idea how it happened and that he really wasn’t sure he was ready to become a dad, after all there were lots more nights out with the boys to be had, before he got himself completely tied down. Chantel, he said, “Used to be fun but now all she seems to do is vomit!” On Saturday, they travelled to a superstore to buy a flat-pack cot in which to cage the baby and I could hear them rowing over how to construct it. Finally, Matt left the house, swiftly followed by what appeared to be the end of the cot, which narrowly missed his head. 

Wendy, Number 29 and Carol, Number 27, went to Guido’s Restaurant in town, on Tuesday evening. It was the first time they’d been out to eat since the COVID lockdown. Wendy told Carol if she hadn’t got out of the house for an evening, she would probably have done something stupid to Brian, who had taken a day off work to demonstrate outside 10 Downing Street, about their daughter Jodie’s “criminal” A Level Results. He’d made a placard with “Justice for Jodie” on it and ended up on the evening news after setting fire to it in front of the Education Secretary’s car, whilst yelling, “That’s what you’ve done to my daughter’s future!” Wendy, who is more down to earth and realistic about her offspring, told Carol the only thing Jodie really works hard at, is lying! 

Thursday 27th August 2020 

On Sunday afternoon, Alfred (Number 16) was discussing Victory over Japan Day, with Liam the antique dealer. He told him how he’d been evacuated from the East End, during the war and was forced to work for long hours, on a farm in Suffolk. He said he used to watch the American bombers flying to and from the airbases and wished he’d been part of the action. Liam casually mentioned he’d served in Iraq. This week his story was that he’d been an intelligence officer working on Operation Red Dawn when Saddam had been found having dinner with friends. Liam told him he’d only been minutes from the house and if it hadn’t been for the Americans muscling in on the action, he could have been the one who shot him whilst he was enjoying a beer and a plate of couscous! Alfred said he thought Hussein had been pulled from a “spider hole” as the result of intelligence, provided by an Iraqi interpreter. Liam thought for a moment before looking over his shoulder and replying, in a confidential tone, that was what the public were told… 

Marcus and his new boyfriend Dan (Head of Fresh Produce) are getting on like a house on fire. Queenie spent the evening with them on Friday. Dan likes cats so he ticks all my boxes. I was invited too, so I popped in on my way over to see Lola, who was out AGAIN.  I blame it on that diamanté collar. To be honest, it seems to be attracting a lot of undesirables. Dan had bought me some lovely prawns, so I settled down on Queenie’s lap and enjoyed listening to the conversation whilst they hand-fed me. Interestingly Marcus’s 1980’s up-lighters have disappeared and been replaced with some rather nice “industrial” table lamps and a new rug. He must be in love. Given Marcus and Dan are such attentive hosts, at the end of the evening, Queenie said she thought in the future, she might like to sit in an armchair like a plump dowager and just be attended by gay men. I may be wrong but I think that’s called an expensive care home?

Brian and Wendy, owners of the stupid dogs, live at Number 27. They have one teenage daughter, Jodie. Being older parents, they dote on their offspring who, I have to say is a little spoilt. Jodie has recently received her “A Level” results and the grades were not what her fee-paying parents had expected. According to Hector at Number 23, had she spent less time smoking by the bins at the back of the local supermarket and more attending lessons, her grades might have been significantly better. However, as far as Brian is concerned, it’s all the Education Secretary’s fault and he’s written directly to him demanding re-re-moderation of the re-moderation exam system,  to make certain Jodie gets “three A stars”, regardless of her teacher’s prediction of three C’s. I sympathise with his disappointment but I know for a fact when her parents were out working, Jodie would sneak home from school and spend most afternoons on the sofa with Josh, an apprentice mechanic. I can only conclude that instead of History, Maths and English A Levels, she might have achieved a better results doing Physical Education and Biology, since she appears to be an expert on  the human body and possibly Chemistry, given the range of recreational substances she’s been taking. 

Click on image to hear Merlot!

Thursday 20th August 2020

The Victoria Avenue summer street party, held last Saturday, was not without incident. Jeff (Number 29), rigged up a speaker system along the road and addressed everyone (frequently) through a microphone attached to his head, as though he was organising a Beyonce concert. The residents, some more reluctant than others, carted out their tables and chairs and set up on the pavement outside their houses, with a variety of finger-foods and copious amounts of alcohol in the hope of improving the evening. At seven thirty, Jeff gave a detailed briefing about COVID and Health and Safety and how nobody should run to the next table, when the music stopped. Instead, he said, “Everyone  should walk in an orderly fashion”. As predicted, it all ended in disarray after the eleventh song, as an argument broke out between the residents of Numbers 28 and 30 over “premature movement” and Gary the builder from Number 11, said he’d nothing in common with Yaz (Number 22) and why should he be made to spend  time in his company as he still owed him for fixing his shower? Things calmed down after a bit of a reshuffle but for a while, the atmosphere remained tense and there was a lot of heckling about Jeff’s choice of music, which was based mainly on Elvis tracks. By nine thirty, Mrs Waters from Number 21 had overdone it on Prosecco and she crossed the road and straddled Mike Jones, whilst miming to “I wanna be your teddy bear” . On seeing this, Jeff started shouting down his microphone about social distancing but she wasn’t taking any notice. After a few verses, she was helped back to her house, yelling if anyone wanted a proper party, they should knock on her door as she knew lots of games and had a variety of masks. Jackie looked over at Carol and mouthed something like  “Glut!” (?). Matt from Number 20, said to girlfriend Chantal, he might pop in and see if Mrs Waters was ok, as she lived alone. Chantal said he could but if he did, she would personally put an end to his ability to have any more children. There was a moment’s hesitation before he sat down and helped himself to another beer. By eleven, following plenty of alcohol and having hijacked the sound system, everyone had broken ranks and Gary had formed a conga down the middle of the road, shouting it would be fine as they were all outside, nobody would be facing each other and physical contact would be less than fifteen minutes! 

Queenie’s mother, Lydia arrived on Thursday evening. Her hair was dyed pink, interwoven with flowers and plaited at the back. This time, she had a bodybuilder friend with her called Mars. He was well over six feet, had hair below his shoulders and was covered in Celtic tattoos. They were off to a re-enactment weekend in Leicester. Lydia wafted into the house in her usual haze of bangles and patchouli and promptly introduced a startled Queenie (with a wink), as her “sister”. At that point Queenie asked Mars if he would mind if she had a private word with Lydia and she dragged her out into the garden to find out what was going on. From my position, curled up on a garden chair, I was in a prime spot to hear Lydia tell Queenie she couldn’t possibly admit she had a daughter of forty-nine as she’d told him she was only fifty-five. The maths just didn’t work! Queenie suggested that the whole thing wasn’t very appropriate to which Lydia replied she was simply “living in the moment.” Queenie walked off saying she was living like a sleazy cougar and what would her two grandchildren think? Later that evening there was a lot of loud music coming from the van and a strange, sweet tobacco smell. As I walked past, Lydia flung the window open and shouted  “Merlot darling, you’ll love this, it’s Def Leopard!”…Pardon?

If you’re enjoying my blog, please share it with your fur-loving friends x

Thursday 13th August 2020

This week, Saffron Wright-Smith and her children Oliver & Emilia have been ‘Cup Caking For Charity’. Saffron has been trying out her new recipes. The ingredients include Andean quinoa, transported by orphaned llamas; samphire, hand-harvested by endangered fishermen and watercress, grown in cooperation with a colony of beavers. There was an honesty box on the front porch of their house, which by Wednesday, was full of donations. The cakes however, remained unclaimed. Mystified, Saffron popped two in husband Luke’s lunch box each day for the rest of the week, as a treat. He in turn, donated them to the station staff, on his way to work. 

Maria Bianchi’s aim with the water pistol has improved. I admit I had become a bit complacent but I hadn’t expected the full-on drenching I received, whilst having a toilet stop in her garden. I was sitting very comfortably among the anemones, watching a butterfly, when I heard a scream and she waddled out of the back door and took a wild shot. All I can say is, I had to leave the garden in a very undignified manner! 

Queenie had been reading up about cleaning cats teeth, on the internet. Suddenly on Friday, fish-flavoured toothpaste and a whole range of cat toothbrushes and dental sticks clattered through the letter box. I could have told her not to waste her money and the inference I have bad breath was frankly, upsetting. Over the week, she made several attempts: cajoling, stealth, ambush etc but none of them worked. Finally, irritated at being woken up by another appliance being eased into my mouth, I was forced to sink my teeth into her finger, to demonstrate there was absolutely nothing wrong with them! 

There’s a longstanding boundary dispute going on between the owners of Number 28 Richard & Jo and Number 30, Andrew and his elderly mother Elsie. They’re arguing over a piece of land that is effectively six inches wide. After a few months of calm, it started up again this week, when Richard cut the top off Number 30’s conifer hedge. His point was, that it was blocking their light and they had warned them. In retaliation, Andrew parked his car over Richard and Jo’s driveway. In response, Jo called her son, who’s a mechanic and he came over and towed the car away. I was sitting on the wall of contention when the subsequent row ensued. Andrew came out brandishing a large piece of his lopped conifer, shouting if Richard didn’t get his car back immediately, he would shove the top of the conifer where the sun didn’t shine. Must be somewhere like Norway? 

On Tuesday evening, Queenie was on the sofa tucking into a “Waggon Wheel” and complaining to her friend Michelle, that they seem to have shrunk since she was a child; a bit like “Curly Wurleys”. She wasn’t sure if it was just she’d got taller or if it was some kind of confectionary conspiracy to increase profits. In any event, as she’d just begun a portion controlled diet, they fitted in nicely. She confided in Michelle that she’d never before had inner thighs that met and she was a bit concerned that in this hot weather, with friction as she walked, her legs might just catch fire.

Please click on the video above to hear Merlot’s message!

Thursday 6th August 2020

Some of the residents of Victoria Avenue have arranged a summer street party to cheer each other up. It’s due to take place next weekend and will involve tables and chairs being placed on the pavement outside each of the houses, rather than in one long line in the middle of the road, to keep it all COVID-safe. Jeff from number 29 who loves being in charge of things, suggested a system of rotation to music: Families could sanitise the table and chairs and move down the street after each set of ten songs, so that they could socialise with several people during the evening. It would be a sort of socially-distanced-musical-chairs-cum-fun-party. Hector asked, straight-faced, whether people had to finish each other’s food and drink when they changed tables? Jeff just looked at him  quizzically and replied “That wouldn’t be very hygienic, would it?” He added stiffly, “People would just need to pick up their plates and glasses and walk the short distance. It wasn’t rocket science.” Jackie (from number 5), asked if rotation would be “controlled” or else when the music stopped there could be a lot of broken glass, smashed plates and injuries, as people dashed over to sit near people they particularly liked (sub-text – avoided those they didn’t). Jeff just gave her a withering look. Queenie said to Marcus it sounded like speed dating to terrible music and there was bound to be the same feeling of drunken disappointment, at the end of the evening. 

Today, Liam was telling an attractive woman, who had innocently ventured into his antiques emporium, how he’d only “got into the antiques business when he left the Secret Service”. Obviously he couldn’t tell her anything about the time he broke into a submarine to retrieve code, to allow the Government to hack into an enemy database, as he was bound by the Official Secrets Act. Suffice to say he said, lowering his voice, he still had to keep a gun and was on speed-dial to MI5. As the customer started backing out of the shop he enquired, casually, if she would she like to go for a drink with him? 

Last night, Queenie and I had a lovely evening snuggled up together in front of the TV. She said she thought she might come off the dating websites since she’d started the menopause and going forward, life might be simpler if it was just her and me. I rolled onto my back and purred loudly, just to reinforce what a splendid idea that was. She got a pen and paper and did a very quick analysis: 

Menopause – Benefits

• Decreased heating bills

Menopause – Drawbacks

• No longer having to refuse an impromptu date, when walking past a building site

• Weight gain 

• Hot flushes

• Irritated with stupid people (all month rather than just a week a month)

• Loudly outspoken (e.g. in shops or with work colleagues)

• Skin looses elasticity (where you don’t want it to)

• Skin gains elasticity (where you don’t want it to)

• Become invisible (unless being loudly outspoken in shops or with work colleagues) 

So, on balance….