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I should like to apologise publicly and unreservedly to this unknown gentleman, whom I captured digging deep in Camden Market yesterday:
I was simply taking a photograph of the market. I didn't spot what you were up to at the time. It was not my intention to cause you any embarrassment.
But it does kind of serve you right.
Greetings from sunny Berkshire, where Jen and I are visiting Ann and Bill and their gay dog. Ann has let me use her computer to draw the following important news story to your attention:
BBC: Cats 'killed by flea treatment'
Hundreds of cats may have died because their owners mistakenly treated them with anti-flea products intended for dogs, a study suggests.
The Veterinary Poisons Information Service found that one in 10 cats referred to it had died after being exposed to permethrin. The chemical is used in flea treatments for dogs but is very toxic to cats, said Alex Campbell of VPIS.
That's permethrin. Remember the name: permethrin.
Ann helpfully pointed out that lilies are also deadly to cats. I wonder whether lilies would survive in acidic Pennine soils. It's got to be worth a try.
The less often I post new stuff on Gruts, the more comments I receive. I'm not quite sure how to take this. Perhaps it takes a while for my profound observations to sink in.
Please feel free to talk amongst yourselves for a while.
Jen and I have been recording the new BBC2 series The Tudors so that we can watch it all in one go. Jen's mum, on the other hand, has been watching each episode as it airs.
A devout Irish Catholic born and bred, Jen's mum never did much Anglican history at school. Yesterday, she described the latest episode of The Tudors to Jen:
There's this man who's married, but he wants to get a divorce so that he can marry this other woman. So he's going to set up a new church… Oh, but I shouldn't be giving away the story!
Jen reassured her mum that she was pretty sure that the story was a matter of public record.
She then told her mum that I want to eat the pope.
Kristin Hersh: 'A Loon':
Last night, I dreamt I owned a very large silverback gorilla.
Believe me, it's not as good as it sounds. Those chaps can get pretty boisterous. To get some peace and quiet, I had to hide out in the attic amongst a large collection of empty wine bottles.
No doubt Freud would have had a field day. Fortunately, Freud was full of shit.
Everything I've ever said will be credited to Dorothy Parker.George Kaufman
Dorothy Parker
Blogfather, Dave Winer, is trying to figure out exactly who Clooney is like.
Ahem! I think you'll find I've already answered that one.
Freakishly uncanny is what I call it.
That's how I will be referring to the third in line to the throne from now on.
What a total wanker.
It's inherited through the Y chromosome, apparently.
Clarificatory postscript: The nasty little ginger shit should not be confused with the song Holding Back the Years by Simply Red. The latter is a nasty little ginger's hit.
While we were out on Monday, Stense bought herself the latest edition of Men's Health magazine.
Now, believe me, I've looked: Stense is definitely not a man. So what on earth was going on there, do you reckon? Stense claimed she had bought the magazine for the recipes. Yeah, right—and I bought this month's Playboy for the Robert Redford interview.
From what I've seen of Men's Health magazine—which, you'll appreciate isn't much—it seems to be aimed at blokes who like to stand around in their underpants all day working on their 'abs'. And for women who have a thing about blokes who like to stand around in their underpants all day working on their 'abs'. Which is most women, as far as I can tell.
I haven't a clue what an 'ab' is, but I'm damned sure I wouldn't want to go showing mine off in public. Even if I could.
And what is it with those six-pack stomachs? Six-packs are for lager-sipping softies. Real men drink real ale, and that stuff comes in barrels.
I don't understand women, I really don't. They keep insisting that, when it comes to men, looks aren't important; it's personality that counts. But when did you last see a woman buying a magazine with Fred Dibnah or Jeremy Paxman on the cover? Exactly! Women are full of shit.
Jealous? Me? No way, ladies! There's nothing those muscle-bound hunks have got that I haven't got four times over.