my will of butter...

Following in Kirsty's footsteps, I am going to attempt to situate myself for my loyal reader. I am sitting in a canvas chair at our too large dining table in front of my beloved iMac, which is looking a little bit clunky compared to the new beauties that Apple have recently set free. My bum is feeling a little bit numb, even though I have a cushion on the chair, because I have been sitting here for about two hours finishing off yet another report. I haven't washed yet, and my hair feels greasy. I haven't even brushed my teeth, and I can still feel the sleepy thickness, which has been made worse by the four cups of coffee and ten fags that I have smoked, so far. On the table, to my left is a vase of strange purple flowers, which are beginning to wilt a little. The vase is surrounded by a variety of candles, including one which smells of vanilla. Even though none of them are alight, every now and then I get a slight whiff of vanilla carried on the draught from the open window. In the background I have John Martyn's 1973 album Solid Air playing. In lots of ways, it is much too complicated to have on as background music because I keep finding myself focussing in on some phrase or some wonderful guitar plucking. If you don't know this album, do yourself a favour and get a copy immediately. Is that enough situating? Yeah, I think it is.

I wanted to write something about my efforts to remove the cat piss and shit from our lives. I have decided that Ra can no longer come into our house. At least now we only have to contend with the demands of Slinky. This is my third day of picking Ra up and putting him outside every time he comes in through the window. I know, I know...I could close the window, but I can't stand the smell of cigarette smoke. I have had to remove him from the house about thirty times so far. He is learning though. Now, he jumps in the window, sees me move, and immediately heads towards the back door. Everytime I pick him he goes all floppy, and he feels like a big teddy bear. I just want to ruffle his lovely soft fur and hug him. He is just so manipulative sometimes. He has now taken to lying on the ground just outside the back door, near to the scene of some of his greatest, and certainly smelliest, crimes against us. I feel so sorry for him. All he wants is to have somewhere comfortable to sleep during the day.

It's hard, but I will prevail.