Saturday, 27 October 2012
I awoke, without feeling in my legs. The lack of sensation I put down to the sudden drop in temperature as evinced by the icicles on the inside of the bedroom windows. In fact the missing legs were due to my circulation having been restricted for about 8 hours by "concrete cat" - Ginja the Ninja.
Scientists believe that it is the Higgs Boson that gives matter mass. That cat must be full to the gunnels and then some with Prof Higgs massive little things. He makes a neutron star blush with mediocrity. He eats black holes and time travels so he can have the same meal over and over again as he puts on the pounds around his accretion ring. Anyway enough of Schrodinger's cat.
This morning was cold.
Ironically Twitter was red hot with the shock and disbelief at the chilled air. People were tweeting from under the duvet, scared to sally forth into the crisp bluey white morn. Others found that their carefully planned economy dreams were blown apart as the central heating fired up and roared at maximum with their regular direct debit being recalculated to double the monthly payment as they shivered.
I didn't know what to do. Stay in bed, pretend to be ill, catch a cold, have a hot bath. But conscious pricked and I got up in my jimjams throw on an interstellar space suit and hurried down stairs to feed the cats and the birds.
It was like the orphanage in "Oliver Twist", cats in a row with their bowls and that look which suggests that you will be to blame for their untimely death should they be unfed for another second. Three tins of cat food opened later, 6 plates and a couple of territorial spats the little beggars were off on their morning patrols and I was left to clean the litter tray. The birds were thrown a pound of mixed bird seed and told to get on with things.
A bath, a bowl of Corn Flakes and I was ready to clean out the fire place and lay the fire for this evening. We've been having open fires these last two weeks.
What to do next. Could go out, down to the market where there threatened to be an English Defence League rally or not - the Home Office having banned the baby fascists from throwing their toys out of their Red White and Blue prams. The ice cold rain determined the next three hours for me. On the computer, checking my on-line bank, energy provider, credit card, you name it, if it's on line I'm there. Except I'm now forgetting my passwords and have to click the "forgotten your password" button so often that I'm sure people are getting suspicious. Or social services have been informed.
Anyway after that I decided I'd go out to the Stratford East shopping centre. Now I knew it was half term, but I didn't know how much I hate teenagers.There were acres of the blighters, all walking with their faces to the floor, or giggling inanely or screaming at their poor parents "That's the one: top model - nothing else will do. If I don't get it I'll kill myself/ flunk my exams/ get pregnant/ say I'm the lovechild of Jimmy Savile". I dashed into the only safe house in the Shopping Mall - John Lewis.
I could breath easy, much of the stuff was of my generation, and if not it was sensible, reassuringly expensive and kid proofed. I bought some perfume - for me and a bottle of single malt Whiskey for Lesley as a welcome home gift after her weekend of teaching at the Women's Institute near Oxford.
Re-invigorated I stormed my way past the queues, buggies, bags and bunga, bunga. A short, if annoying train journey home - I had to sit almost next to a spotty, overgrown cabbage of a child, and I opened the front door. And then the back to door to allow a flood of pussy hair in as I opened another three tins and pack of cat food.
I might even watch "Strictly" tonight as a reward.