No, not that now someone else does the shopping and washing (though sadly, not the washing up)
Cat fleas. I am their anathema, their pink apocalypse. I am so bunged up with a horrendous chemical brew in the name of prevention, that one bite, and their a gonna. One foolhardy individual managed to survive all of 5 seconds. I watching in amusement as it landed, bit, staggered drunkenly in a circle (that'll be the Glenfidich) then leapt into space before doing a brief break-dance into oblivion on the laminate.
I'm seriously thinking of renting myself out.
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I've had a word with Santa - he's been at a bit of a loose end since failing his CRB check - and apparently he's bringing me a nice expensive point-and-shoot camera. So prepare to be amazed :)
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