Lazy Sunday

Hi Everyone,

I've done it! Joined you all, got blogging. I had a lie in this morning and finished 'Fingersmith', a novel set in the Victorian era. The characters certainly have a Dickensian feel to them. The author, Waters, has captured Victorian England and the plot grips you more and more by the throat as you read it, always a good sign I feel. But is it a classic? One I just have on my bookshelf because I know I'll want to read it again? Mmm I'll have to think about that

Rocky, our tabby, isn't amused. He's out in the farmer's field at the back of us. We gave him a gentle push in that direction because he savaged our stair carpet again! He unsheaths his claws, rips a thread or two, pauses, looks at us and repeats the offence. I'm not sure I want to know what he's trying to tell us.

He has five star service: two flunkeys who wait on him hand and foot; a menu and a choice of bed (anywhere he wants to lay his fur coat). What else can a feline fiend need? Perhaps he's going through the tabby menopaws? He'll be back soon, sashaying through the cat flap demanding his cat size portion of the Sunday roast. Who's in charge here?

I persuaded my husband we should walk to the shops for the Sunday papers, instead of taking the lazy way out and using the car. I didn't regret it, he did. He had to listen to a diatribe about all those things you don't see when you're speeding past them at 30 miles an hour. Let me give you the list: Russian Vine cascading over back garden fences and strangling everything it can get its murderous tendrils around; great dollops of horse manure on the pavement; a downtrodden bus shelter with a huge pane of its glass laid lovingly on the ground; new flower tubs which are too tall planted with a tangle of leaves which are too small; paper from last night's fish and chip supper; beer cans outside the pub and the library which needs painting, covered with graffiti. Why?

When we got home we enquired about next door who are recovering from a horrific motorbike crash. They were only doing 25 miles an hour on a bend! Apparently there was diesel on the road. One was thrown along the tarmac losing her helmet in the process, the other ended up hugging a telegraph pole. One bruised kidney and a broken collar bone later, they're on morphine and have bought a new bike. Yes, they intend to ride again! Being a coward with a vivid imagination, I'm lost for words! This, by the way, is unusual.

Lorna