Cat owning: ultimate selfishness?

My dislike of cats increases every year. At this rate, I will wind up as a leather-faced old biddy living in sheltered accommodation leaving out rat poison for all the "beloved companions" and rubbing my arthritic hands in glee.

Last year it was that ugly fat ginger cat that caught a collared dove in my back garden and ripped off its wing without actually killing it. Bleurgh.

And now the spot of spring cleaning I did in the garden last weekend seems to have been the feline equivalent of putting up a "please sh*t here" sign. In BOTH the front and back gardens. Loads of it. How do they do that? Is it one cat with enormous bowel capacity, or did all the neighbourhood mogs get together for a defecation party when I wasn't looking?

At least when I had a dog, it was ME who cleared up his mess. And he didn't jump the fence and do it in other people's gardens.

Frog Innard Street

If you ever need to get to my office, take the tube to Fabric Larks and then walk down Frog Innard Street.

Greenie goo

Why is there so much gob in the streets nowadays? Who is generating it all?? Aren't they getting somewhat dessicated by now???

Beautiful Day (as U2 would have it)

London is a truly beautiful city on days like today. I walked through St James' Park (Pelicans! Psychotic squirrels! Palace!) to Pall Mall for a meeting early this morning.

Then everyone from that meeting had to decamp to a different meeting on Piccadilly, so off we marched through Green Park. 7 grey suits, inevitably glued to their mobile phones & blackberries; me, fluffy purple boa-style scarf streaming in the brisk winter breeze; and a senior female lawyer in a funky Vivienne Westwood style jacket (most adventurous for the Land Of Pinstripe).

It has been a glorious winter sunshiney day that makes me smile every time I look outside. I had to catch a cab back to the office, and we went back along The Mall, down to Parliament Square, along the Embankment (Big Wheel! Hungerford Bridge! Oxo Tower!). It was like a tourist special.

By the by, that man is still camped outside the Houses of Parliament with his anti-war placards. I don't know how long he's been there now. Probably he enjoyed the fact that it was a nice day, too, though.

Death of Smash Hits

Inevitably overtaken in teenage preoccupations by (i) sending WOTUUP2 text messates to each other and (ii) standing around outside Alldays doing Little Britain impressions, Smash Hits magazine is biting the dust.

Tragic. It was about the only bit of totally frivolous expenditure we were allowed as kids, and the only teen magazine that was able to pass the parental censor. Just 17 and More were both deemed to be too sex-obsessed to be suitable reading material for 13-year-olds (remember "position of the fortnight" with those impressively detailed line drawings?)

But I digress. Back to the demise of the Hits: where are the teenagers of the future going to get their posters from now? I still remember Elly getting a load of grief from dad for putting up one of A-ha in which Morten's acne was all too visible under the panstick. Ah, the memories!

Turning 30 in Uzbekistan

Glenn's going to be in The 'Stan when I turn 30 later this year. This gives me a dilemma: do I...

(a) fly out and big it up Muslim stylee for a crazeeee weekend, or
(b) stay at home and large it like that with the £500 I've just saved on the flight?

Choices, choices.

Tashkent

No, not some Essex bird.

It's the capital of Uzbekistan (I had to look it up on the internet - it's amazing what school doesn't teach you these days), and it's where Glenn has been posted for two months this summer.

Given that downtown San Francisco is probably the most gritty and challenging holiday destination I've faced to date I'm not altogether sure that popping over to see him is a good plan. But I'm prepared to give it ago, despite the warnings on the Foreign Office website of the risks of being mugged by off-duty policemen, or blown up by land mines on the border.

Any input into this disaster-in-waiting would be gratefully received.