Wahing and wallets

Never let it be said that we ever have a dull moment. Sid had his wallet stolen last night, in a series of events which led to him being stuck in London after the last train with no way to obtain money. I was alerted to this during the post-midnight hours and there followed a series of desperate calls to stop cards and a late trip out to the village to get money for a cab home (!), all of which culminated in a very unrestful and somewhat expensive night for us both.

It was somewhat fortuitous that I had already arranged to work from home today as it meant I could get up at 8am instead of 5.30am, a net gain of some 2.5 hours which went some way towards restoring the deficit. Not all the way, but sufficient to allow me to ensconce myself on the patio, weld myself to my laptop and feverishly bang away at it all day to get my five year plan done. It's very nearly finished and I am very nearly really pleased with it. By virtue of my trusty nanod replete with Hendrix-enhanced shuffle and a single-minded determination to get at least one of a whole tribe of monkeys off my back, I was able to effectively zone out any potential distraction caused by the ongoing arena construction just yards away and really get on with it. Anyone that knows of my flea-like attention span will recognise this as the gargantuan effort that it was, and mill around me murmuring enthusastically about what a stellar example of mind over matter I had undertaken. This in spite of a series of work-related irritations throughout the day which I could talk about but then I'd have to kill you, and frankly the patio isn't big enough to cope with the projected number of bodies. Mind you, I do have access to an impressive array of heavy duty digging equipment strewn about the place at this precise moment, so maybe I could take the risk and then dispose of the evidence in a mass grave in one of the paddocks.But that would be assuming that I can be arsed, and that would be incorrect.

In other news, I have booked in Slinky Binky for her snippage on Tuesday, spurred into action by the sight of her and Ted going at it not yards from the patio door the other day and considering just how much worse my situation would be if I ended up with not 8 extra cats, but some fearful number equal to or greater than, say, 15. Especially in a climate of economic doom and austerity where no bugger within Kent or without appears to be on the market for kittens.

That's it really.