5 am i'm engrossed in a lucid dream the like of witch I haven’t experienced in years. I’m blissfully unaware of what its about to happen as an intruder silently and stethaly creeps into my room. In the half-light he must have mistaken witch end of the bed I was sleeping or he intended to wake me, the answer to this I will never know. He rains down an attack on my foot. My dream is replaced by white agony then confusion. He’s hurt me enough to wake me but not incapacitate me. I’m confused and my eyes haven’t adjusted to the light. I raise my left arm to defend myself and he attacks with all his might. In the maelstrom my arm takes the full force of his attack, some how though if manage to knock him to the floor. My eyes just about adjust as my eyes meet his. His next attack is quick. Quicker then I could possibly expect. I feel the flesh of my cheek parting. All I can reach is the pillow I swing hard. Somehow it connects well and he is halted in his attack on my face. He tumbles to the floor again. But has time to correct his fall and lands neatly. He looks at me. I feel the blood running down my cheek. His message is delivered. He lets out a satisfied meaow, turns flicks his tail and is gone into the darkness.

Eurovision and bathing the cat.

So no wogan…. I had my doubts weather it would still have the magic. When it was announced I was confident he was the logical choice. The boy did good. He added a level of bitchyness to proceedings. The drinking game rules change every year mainly because we get so wasted they go out the window and no once can rember them. This year the wife was ill so I had to drive her home so no gin and relentless for me. This was possibly a blessing in descise as I think gin and relentless could have killed me…. Or would have done some serous tinkering with my digestive tract that the maintenance men at sothernwater would not have thanked me for. The people in charge of making up the rules said. Drink at power grabs, shaven chests, bitchy comments, campness etc….. then when it gets to the scoring drink for every point England gets. In prevose years this was a bit of relief at our nil points. This year I think they drank 171 times at out 5th place. 171 drinks for the melted paedophile walrus face of sir Andrew Lloyd Webber.

The mrs wanted to bath the cat. She said she’s always wanted too and id always wanted to reseve a rususative procedure. So angering an animal with teeth and claws seemed the logical choice and chelle said I should expect at the very least a blood transfusion.

I have to say the cat wasn’t best please at the whole affair but he didn’t try to kill us. No one got injured witch was a shock as I was hoping I would be so hurt it would get me out of my Sunday afternoon washing up chore. “Sorry love you’ll have to do it I need to go to A&E and get my hand put back on”

the say a picture speeks athousand words.... and it probubly will in my prossicutions case at my animal crulty trial

he was suspisious i took his collur off

lured him in with a duck

he sat there and took it like a man

alfie mid shake teh watter off like a dog

he's a hairy liittle beast

some more noncence cartoons ive beein commisioned to make