Mine, all mine!

Fat Boy excelled himself tonight, sat for ages with his paws on the cat food box giving off a distinctly "come near my grub and I'll moan pathetically" warning vibe (that's as close as it get to aggression with this species of felix wimpus).

Other than that not a lot to say about today, unless you count a family teleconference over the modus operandi for buying and decorating a Christmas tree, and a generally flat feeling in the workplace which reminded me of the day after the teacher let it slip at primary school that there ain't no santa claus. But there ain't no sanity clause in the NHS (to quote Chico Marx) so we've all got a good reason to feel flat. That and the fact that we are now the noddy no friends of Europe, which I found utterly depressing, particularly when I listened in on the rantings from the commons this afternoon as the mindless xenophobes, the sell out junior partners and the ineffective opposition convinced me that democracy in this country is seriously damaged. Come to think of it Cameron and Fat Boy have a lot in common. Neither of them have a clue what's going on in the real world.

By the way, the absurdity of Fat Boy's possessiveness (and another uncanny parallel with our political masters) is that the box was empty. But I didn't have the heart to tell him. Oh yeah and he still believes in Father Christmas .... what a wimp.