They've gone and bought a campervan, Ange and the lummox. And you ought to see the pair of them, like big bloody kids getting all excited. Honestly, it's enough to make you bring up a furball the way they prance about the thing and ooh and aah over it. Personally I don't know what all the fuss is about, it's just a vehicle at the end of the day. I've even been in it - they took me to the vet - and to say that I was underwhelmed by it is an understatement of epic proportions. It's just a van, people, just a van. Calm down.
But here's what gets me the most - the bloody thing has got a bed in the back of it. And a cooker and a sink and a fridge and even a human litter box. So you can no doubt guess where this is leading to. Yes, that's right, they go poncing off out and sleep in it. Truthfully! They go out for the night and actually sleep in the back of a van - FOR FUN!!! These humans have some strange ideas of what fun is I must say. Personally, I prefer to sleep on a big double bed but hey, if that's what turns them on then good luck to them. But of course that means that when they're off on their travels I'm sat here servantless on my own with nought but several platefuls of food that Ange puts out for me before they go. It's not good enough. It's never good enough and I let them know this on their return.
There's talk of them going to Scotland for a week in July. A whole week nancing around the Highlands in that thing whilst I'm here on me todd! Mind you, there is one good thing about it. I shall be able to hunt to my heart's content and catch as many mice as I want without that pair squealing about it so on that note they can bugger off and do as they please and leave me to my own devices.
Van my arse
P x
Pages
▼
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
Festival
That Steve had better watch his step. Nay! He should watch his back. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I refuse to be manhandled. What part of it don't they understand? We'll all go for a jolly cruise on my boat when I'm good and f***ing ready! There I was sunning myself on the compost heap and working on my tan when the lummox started the old biscuit rattling bit. Like a fool (or a dog) I fell for it again but realising my mistake at the last moment I nipped up onto the roof. I knew what his lummoxy little game was and I nearly let the oaf get away with it. But then, whilst my back was turned Mirfield crept up behind me, seized me in his mitts and had me down the stairs before I could get my claws into him. And it shall not be forgotten in a hurry!!! The indignity of it!
So off we went to Skipton again. I can take it or leave the place personally and this whole boat festival thing that goes on each year just seems like an excuse for them all to get loaded with food and drink and spend a gay old time in the gateway to the Dales farting and belching. I thought at one point on the Sunday night that the lummox must have followed through, such was the terrible noise he made in bed. Yes, yes he must have done.
The thing is, there's never anything at the poxy festival to interest a cat. What am I supposed to do for three days for crying out loud? Mooch about the boat reading old copies of Vanity Fur and Cosmeowpolitan (see what I did there?)? I'm buggered if I'm going to set foot on that dog strewn towpath during the hours of daylight. So I have to endure 6 hours of that bloody roaring great engine each way there and back just so they can all have a piss up in a different location and then spend all my time there in bed or glaring at them from the kitchen table. The dog seemed excited to be there but then the dog gets excited when it picks a sweaty sock up in it's mouth so that's no recommendation is it?
Still, I'm busy plotting my revenge now that we're home again and I'll let you know how that goes
P x
So off we went to Skipton again. I can take it or leave the place personally and this whole boat festival thing that goes on each year just seems like an excuse for them all to get loaded with food and drink and spend a gay old time in the gateway to the Dales farting and belching. I thought at one point on the Sunday night that the lummox must have followed through, such was the terrible noise he made in bed. Yes, yes he must have done.
The thing is, there's never anything at the poxy festival to interest a cat. What am I supposed to do for three days for crying out loud? Mooch about the boat reading old copies of Vanity Fur and Cosmeowpolitan (see what I did there?)? I'm buggered if I'm going to set foot on that dog strewn towpath during the hours of daylight. So I have to endure 6 hours of that bloody roaring great engine each way there and back just so they can all have a piss up in a different location and then spend all my time there in bed or glaring at them from the kitchen table. The dog seemed excited to be there but then the dog gets excited when it picks a sweaty sock up in it's mouth so that's no recommendation is it?
Still, I'm busy plotting my revenge now that we're home again and I'll let you know how that goes
P x