The Oscars!

Helen Mirren won Best Biddy- I mean Best Actress for her portrayal of Queen Elizabeth.

No, Helen...I mean DAME Helen,

let's face it love....



you were awarded the Oscar by the gay-run Academy in the full-frontal relief that you have done an entire film without getting yer baps out.

Don't hold it higher- yer boobs will pop out!

Fin.

The Oscars!

Who gives a to$$.









Fin.

Celia versus The Cat

It was just another normal day.

Except Celia had to take The Cat To The Vet's.

Just for his annual boosters, mind, nothing serious.


Darren offered to leave work early to accompany me, and I dismissed him with a wave of a hand, thanking him for his kind gesture, but, afterall, it was a routine visit, nothing could go wrong...

The appointment was for 5 p.m., and I approached it with military precision. I was planning the moves in my head as I drove home from work...grab cat, pop in cat basket, jump in car, arrive at Vets, jabs given, return home, pat on the back- job well done!


Instead:

4.45 p.m. Celia arrives home. Realises cat carrier is upstairs in back bedroom, not under stairs as she thought. Greebo the cute and loving cat follows mummy up stairs, mewing and purring for strokes, welcoming his mistress home.

4.50 p.m. Mistress rewards Greebo for his adoration with a swift "Oi oi!!" grab-action and stuffs cat into afore-mentioned cat-carrier. Greebo is totally stunned, and, for a few moments, he is actually quiet. Does not last long.

4.53 p.m. Cat+ cat carrier placed in car. Engine turned on. Cat realises he is going to one of two places

(a) Cattery
(b) Vet.

Both of which he detests. Loud yowling ensues, drowning out car radio.

4.55 p.m. Mistress no longer smug as she realises, sat at the traffic lights of Spen Corner, she can hear a large amount of liquid gushing forth from a particular cat's bladder.
It is at this point Celia thinks, "Maybe I should of made sure he'd gone to the loo before putting him in the carrier..."

4.57 p.m. Smell of urine hits Celia's nostrils and Greebo's mews of self pity are occasionally interrupted as he skids inside the plastic carrier around in his wee.


5.00 p.m. Arrive at Vet's. Owner and pet both distressed.

5.05 p.m. Vet sees state of cat. Fur soaking wet. Vet bursts into howls of laughter and empties wee out of cat carrier into his surgery sink whilst Celia scrubs bemused the frankly sodden cat down with what seems to be kitchen roll.

5.07 p.m. Worming tablet forced down cat's throat. Jabs given.



It is clear that at this point, Greebs thinks he's having a pretty crap day. But it's about to get even worse...



5.10 p.m. Seeing the state of her wee-soaked cat, Mistress has no option but to purchase ridiculously expensive cat shampoo from the now roariously laughing vet, whose diamond wit is shining with remarks such as,
" Well at least we know his bladder's alright now, eh?! ha hah ha ha "
and,
"you haven't bathed him before? Oh good luck you'll need it HA HA HA HAH"
etc etc as he waves me goodbye...

5.20. p.m. Arrive back home. Place cat carrier on kitchen side. Clear area and get out Milton disinfectants etc in anticipation of cleaning later. Read instructions of shampoo as Greebo's whines have turned into growling, inside the darkened box.

5.22 p.m. Run water. Take out cat. Try to place cat in water.


Fight for survival between woman and beast ensues.



5.40 p.m. Cat full of shampoo, now trying to rinse aforementioned feline who is giving it all he can to escape. Kitchen floor soaked. Human- soaked. Human wishes she'd waited for Darren to come home, but couldn't stand idea of Greebs licking wee off own fur. Human carries on wrestling with fitting hissing scrabbling shampoo-covered water-laden cat. Celia swings from hysterical laughter at the wet-look state of her cat, to distress at seeing just how Greebo is so stressed out. Really wishes she hadn't done this alone.



5.50 p.m. Cat now rinsed.

But it is not over.

Cat is bundled up into his own towel (to prevent further scratches to human and a pathetic attempt to towel-dry fur) and carried into livingroom, where hairdryer is ready for action.

5.55 p.m. Decide that my Vet is a lying bastard and a wind-up merchant, telling me to use a hairdryer to dry Greebo's fur. He goes spastic with the sound of the hair-dryer and I quickly drop the dryer and just try to hand-dry him. He continues to struggle away from me, and in the end, I do as much as I can, then let him escape away from me.

6 p.m. Cat now hates me- sits on other side of sofa, totally ignoring me.




6.10 p.m. Ignores blatant food-blackmail of canned tuna put down on floor.

Eyes me with amber-green globes of hatred.


6.30 p.m. Darren arrives home from work to sodden grumpy cat and soaked human female who had to change all her clothing & mop the kitchen laminate, which had more water on it than the actual sink...

6.35 Cat eats tuna...

Only because Darren puts it in front of him.

Did I mention at this point, that we were having our friend Cath over for dinner at 7.30?....



P.S. The cat is no longer in a foul mood with Celia.
But it took 5 days to forgive her...