Aspersions have been cast, so it seemed necessary to update my blog to take this in to account.

SW. has left a new comment on your post "Before I start writing I better warn you that the ...": I've seen little evidence lately of you being a writer........... and yes, that does constitute as nagging.

I feel that I can’t possible let this comment pass by without a reply and that I need to set the record straight, so to speak.

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It’s hardly my fault, now is it, that my betas have let me get away with it up until now. No motivation or encouragement from either of them and they’re usually a right pair of bossy sods. Yes, OK, I’ll admit – at a push - that I may have received one or two, or even five e-mails from readers, but that’s not the point in question here.

I’m sure that everyone can see that I’m the injured party in all of this and with that in mind – and now we’ll really see if there are readers that want updates – that all complaints should be addressed to Scally & Chris and left in the comment box.

As no one appears to even understand the concept of the comment box, let alone use it – I think it’s fair to say that I don’t need to worry too much about updating yet a while. And before some bright spark thinks of it – emailing me doesn’t count.

Right, I think I’ve just about covered everything.

Not my fault. Check.
Complaints in writing only. Check.
Feel smug. Check.

Yep, that will do nicely. *walks away whistling to herself*


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Don’t let anyone ever tell you that animals are stupid, especially cats. My cat is a down right, devious, sneaky, underhanded trickster. Last night was a good example of how her mind works.

It was just before 12.00 and for once everyone had gone to bed; youngest has clicked on fairly quickly for a teenager that if you have to get up to go to work in the morning, talking on the internet to your friends isn’t a good idea at 4.30 a.m.

As I’ve said in the past I sleep with the bedroom window open, you’d have thought that I’d have heard the fencing panels being nicked, but I didn’t. And you can tell what season it is by what I wear to bed. Winter is Pyjama weather, but as it gets warmer I wear less and less – by the Summer I’m starkers. I don’t sleep very well if I’m hot. At the moment I’m at the T-shirt and knickers stage – yes there is a reason you need to know this, just carry on reading.

So we’re all in bed and the cat comes in through the window. Jumps on to the bed and start pawing at my face and rubbing up against me. For those without a cat, this translates to 'get up and feed me'.

I pushed her off the bed; no way was I getting up again. Not one to take no for an answer she jumped back up and started again. No, it wasn’t going to work – she got pushed off again with a pssstt. All went quiet and I heard her jump back up to the window sill and go out again. Fine by me, I could now settle down and go to sleep.

Half an hour later I was drifting off to sleep when I heard her come back in. She then meowed. Now she has lots of different meows and over time, like any cat owner, I’ve come to know what they mean. This was a quite distinctive meow, a little bit muffled. The sort of meow that you’d get if the cat had something in its mouth. A mouse, for example. I shot up out of bed, half scaring Himself to death in the process and shouted at the cat. She in turn gave me a Look and shot off down the stairs with me in hot pursuit.

She stopped at the living room door and stared at me, so did the mouse hanging from her mouth. I wasn’t in the mood to play the hero and rescue it, so I unlocked and opened the front door. The cat sat still for a seconds; I swear to God she was thinking. She then dropped the mouse who sat at her feet for a while before wandering off towards the stairs. Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan that the two of them had cooked up, the mouse was a little lost at the turn of events. The cat then calmly walked out of the front door and sat on the step. There was a wealth of meaning in the look she gave me.

I gave in, I know when I’m beat. I opened the living room door and in she walked, straight to the kitchen. She then waited patiently whilst I opened a tin of tuna.

So I was then left with the mouse. Like all mice it did the jack in the box impression whenever I tried to catch it. In the end I went back upstairs and found a small cardboard box. I eventually, after fits and starts, got the mouse into the box. Of course I don’t know if I’d have been able to achieve this if Himself hadn't given me instructions from the top of the stairs (BTW, that was me trying out irony).

Now to get rid of the bloody mouse. Well it was pitch black outside, we've no street lamps and at that time no one is around – so I figured that I didn’t need to get dressed, no one was going to see me after all.

Sticking my head out of the door, I had a quick look up and down the road. No one in sight and no cars around. So out I ran, heading for the pavement across the road and the Parish Hall garden. I figured it was a safe place for the mouse and well away from our house. I was halfway across the road when I remember that after we had the fencing panels nicked Himself decided that we should change the outside light to one that reacts to movement of any sort. Movement such as a middle aged woman running across the road in her T-shirt and knickers. I was illuminated up more effectively than the Blackpool Tower; I just hope the neighbours didn’t see me. I can tell you now that the mouse left the box a lot quicker than I originally planned.