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Monday, March 29, 2010

Peeping Tom

Monty Cat is not God's gift to feline intellect. He's not even a moderately bright cat. At this stage, we don't see him going to university. When he was little, he would repeatedly jump up onto the counter by the sink, obsessed with running water. He would then stick his head under the tap to get closer to the water... but could never work out how or why he was getting wet.

Here is Monty Cat at Mr and Mrs Nunn's house, being filmed: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJn9eDtBEbQ Apologies for the title of the clip. Believe it or not, that is Mr Nunn's doing.

Still, it wasn't until last weekend we genuinely started to wonder if he had learning difficulties, that he might have been dropped on his head as a kitten. Repeatedly.

We have been unable to fit a proper cat flap to the house as we have a conservatory at the back, and it's really difficult to fit a flap into glass. Monty Cat does enjoy going outside whilst we're at work, so we decided in order for him to have shelter if it starts raining, we'd put a cat flap on the shed. Last weekend TheBloke (TM) diligently beavered away, like a diligent beaver and fitted a Monty Cat flap to the shed.

Monty Cat was not interested. We sat on one side and tempted him through with treats. He didn't understand. We posted him through physically a few times, to help him get the hang of it. We shut him in the shed and called him encouragingly from the other side. No joy. Eventually, out of desperation, we removed the flap part of the cat flap so it was just a hole in the shed.

The neighbourhood cats came to play. In and out of the shed they went. In and out and out and in. Monty Cat would look at them with wonderment. You could see on his little cat face, as they disappeared into the shed, the question, "Well where did that cat go? What witchcraft is this?"

"Never mind," we thought. As soon as it rains, instinct will take over and he'll head for the shelter. I came home on Thursday after work. It had been raining. I went to let Monty Cat in for his dinner, and in sprinted a soggy, soggy moggy.

Next door's cat )Monty Cat's girlfriend) popped her head out of our shed to see what was going on.

Monty Cat is stupid. Luckily we have a special needs school at the top of the road.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Thick ear

I know, I know, I haven't Plogged for ages, and this - I fear - will be of small consolation for those of you who are on tenterhooks, unable to fully enjoy their life until the next Plog comes along. For those people, I say, "Get a life." Harsh, but true. Seriously, it's spring. Go and look at the daffodils or something.

For the rest of you, it's just a photo, I'm afraid. Yesterday TheBloke (TM) and I went to Beckton Triangle. For the uninitiated, this is a retail park. Oh yes, we're glamorous. There are all manner of upmarket stores here, from the Argos to DFS, to a B&Q and - excitingly - a Pets At Home store. Where of course we had to stop off to buy presents and treats for an increasingly naughty Monty Cat. I am not entirely sure Monty Cat is deserving of either presents or treats. I suspect he has been fighting with neighbourhood cats. I suspect this because he appears to have a cut on his furry little lip and no longer seems to want to go outside. Remind me to Plog sometime about trying to teach our learning difficulties cat (unsuccessfully) to use a cat flap.

Anyway, Monty Cat treats were bought and were paid for at the checkout, where I also saw these.




Pigs' ears. For feeding to your dog. Not just any pigs' ears though. Diet pigs' ears. Which made me wonder two things:

Thing 1: How do you take the fat out of a pig's ear, in order to create a diet product?
Thing 2: If you don't do Thing 1, do you just hack the ears off the pigs which are less obese, that is to say, the thinner pigs, and put them in the packet?

The mind boggles.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Journal-ist

Reading really old diaries is weird. I've always been pretty much of the belief that fundamentally you don't change as a person, that your character is fairly fixed from a young age. Yet reading diaries from my childhood, I seem like a totally different person.

As an adult, I actively avoid conflict. I think the last proper row I had was when I was about 17, and even then, I remember just storming out the sixth form common room and walking it off around the quad. Not exactly violent or over-emotional. I am pretty difficult to rile, and even when I'm really upset about something, anger is rare. Unless I'm on a customer services call to Tiscali or Tower Hamlets Council. And I did once call Billy from the Carphone Warehouse a fuckwit. But, to be fair, he was being a fuckwit.

But reading old diaries from when I was a kid, I was an angry, angry child. I wonder if I perhaps wrote down the anger rather than venting it? I'm sure my parents will chip in and let me know whether or not I did have screaming tantrums and shout all the things I used to write. I have no memory of it. I remember storming up to my room a lot and writing furiously, but I don't remember screaming and shouting. Memory is unreliable though. For example, I have no recollection of this (apologies to all involved - though 20 years later it feels a bit redundant!):

19 November 1990

School was OK. I am upstairs. It is 6.27 p.m. Mum has told me I have to be in bed for 8. Because I said she was a fart. She isn't a fart. She's a fucking stinking smelly toad brain farting goose pimply zit brained butt headed, greasy skinned wombat with a stinking arse. I wish I was dead. I wish she was dead and I wish Jack was dead. Chris is going out with Susan again.

***

Got to love that juxtaposition at the end there. Made even better by the very next entry. For reference, Matthew was my boyfriend at the time. This mostly involved just telling people you were going out with each other and very little else:

22 November 1990

A lot of news today. At lunch time Susan asked Matthew if he fancied anyone else. He said yes but wouldn't say who so Liz asked him and she got it out of him. He fancied Susan. So I packed him in once and for all and now Susan is going out with him. I will never go out with him again. Here is a list of boys I would go out with:

John
Chris
Matthew (yes, the one my eleven-year-old self just dumped)
Alan
Paul

I am still Susan's friend but I HATE Matthew. I am going to kill him (I hope!). Had piano lesson today. It is cold outside. Also had violin lesson.

I hate Matthew. If he asked me out I might go out with him but probably not.

***

I wonder what a greasy-skinned wombat actually looks like. Pictures please.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Taking the biscuit

I wish I'd had my camera with me today. At lunchtime I wandered over to the library* at Canary Wharf, as I've got a nasty three-a-week paperback habit.

Before I complete this Plog in my usual sarcastic, belittling style, I would like to say that I think the library here is fantastic. The staff are knowledgeable*, their computer system is amazing (you just have to pop a pile of books next to a computer monitor and it automatically knows all of the ones you want to take out) and they even email you a few days before your book becomes overdue, so you don't even have to pay any fines.

A couple of weeks, despite their advanced warning system, I returned a paperback a day late, and the automated system told me I had to pay a 10p fine. So I took the book to the front desk and told the lady that the system had charged me. She said, "Well that's very rude of it, isn't it?"

I said, "Well, I think it's my fault rather than its, for bringing the book back late."

I proffered my 10p, which she refused "in the interests of customer service". Bless her. I don't know if it occurred to her that really, even if I had taken umbrage at my 10p fine and refused to patronise the library in the future, exactly what the library would lose from that. It's kind of a topsy-turvy business model; in a way, the fewer customers they have, the cheaper the place is to run.

Anyway, I digress. Today I went into the library and walked past a colourful sign stating, "Slimming World here today! 12 noon! No joining fee!" It was exactly 12 noon as I entered the place.

The library also appeared to be celebrating its birthday. Its fourth birthday to be precise. This was a bit odd, but there were balloons and they were offering four free DVD rentals. Then I noticed it. Right by the entrance to the Slimming World room was a giant birthday cake. I'd been in the library for approximately two minutes when an announcement came over the tannoy:

"Ladies and gentlemen, to celebrate our fourth birthday we would like to share cake with all our customers. Please go to the front of the library for a slice of cake."

There was one fatty (sorry, Slimming World customer) who I swear dithered for a full 30 seconds, as if pulled by opposing magnetic forces between the cake and the weight loss group. The cake inevitably won. It would have made a perfect photo. The massive cake, the Slimming World sign and the dithering fatty.

It was good cake.

* Actually, Tower Hamlets, in its infinite dickdom, has renamed all of its libraries "Idea Stores". Because a brainstorming session run by council morons have clearly decided the youff don't know what a library is, and so have simplified the concept. Were the staff not quite so lovely, I would be tempted to amuse myself by going to the front desk on a weekly basis and asking to purchase one of their finest ideas. And when they said that they didn't sell them, I would cite the Trades Description Act. "You clearly state this is a store. A store for ideas. If I set up an egg shop and refuse to sell you eggs, you'd think I was quite, quite mad. Now sell me an idea or I'll sue you!"

* The staff are knowledgeable generally, apart from the lady today, when I took out Gone with the Wind on DVD, who said to me, "Heathcliff!" I said, "I hope Heathcliff isn't in it. I bloody hate Wuthering Heights." She said, "Oh, it's similar though, isn't it?" I said, "Well, um, Gone with the Wind is set during the American Civil War and Wuthering Heights is set in... um... Yorkshire, so..." But then she started whistling a Kate Bush song, so I left it at that.

PS Hazel informs me she's now opened up the group to public membership, so if you want to join: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=402667614464&ref=ts, my extra special friends get a free badge.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Blast from the past

Ploggers, it may shock you to know that the Plog is not my first foray into the written word. I've kept a diary regularly from the age of 12 up to the present day, which makes for hilariously excellent reading from time to time... but most of the time is quite dull and generally full of worries about French tests and still not understanding the subjunctive. A bit swotty and dull.

But Ploggers, home with Mr and Mrs Nunn this weekend, I came across a treasure chest. My diary from when I was ten years old. In fact, two diaries from this period. The first is the Judy Blume Diary and the second is the Judy Blume Memory Book. The latter is a series of questionnaires you're supposed to fill in to build up a picture of your life.

Ploggers, it is by far the funniest thing I have read all weekend. I have some choice excerpts for you and - depending on demand and how lazy I'm feeling - there may be more at a later date. For now:

19th March 1990

Most awful day in school ever. Nobody knows about this but I had to write out 20 times, "I must remember to do my homework." I had to do it through breaktime.. I finished before the end of break and Miss Schenk said, "Now get on with something you want to do." I felt like saying I wanted to blow her up with a bomb!


13 April 1990

Today I came back from my friend Abi's. She gave me a Kylie Minogue tape. It is brill!


17 April 1990

I am 10 and a half exactly today. I came back from Grandma's today. I was really worried about the rabbit because we went away for 3 1/2 days. Luckily my friend Jennie looked after him and managed okay. I had five Easter eggs. My brother Jack had six. He would have had two more than me because he got one from his childminder AND his playgroup leader as well but on Mothers' Day, me and Jennie gave the old lady down the road a posy, so I got an Easter egg from them and Jack didn't. Jack keeps using my video tapes to record Sesame Street on.


** I think the next one is my absolute favourite **

16 May 1990

In 25 minutes I will be going to my piano exam Grade II. I am really really really nervous. Penny is taking me and bringing me back. I have had the day off school for practice. I also have diarrhoea.


Saturday, March 06, 2010

Eggs-tremely egg-cellent

I have always maintained I have fantastic friends. If you're going to be jealous of me, my friends are definitely the thing you'll be wanting to envy me for. (Though some of you may covet my Tesco jumper, as per below, which perhaps says more about you than it does about me.)

Let's start the story at the beginning. I was leaving my last place of employment, and had about £10 left on my staff canteen card. I couldn't find a way of refunding this back into my bank account or exchanging it for cash, so the only thing to do was to spend it. Under normal circumstances I'd have treated the team to a round of coffees, but as per http://laurasplog.blogspot.com/2010/02/how-to-win-friends.html, I decided not to. I had a bacon sandwich and a coffee, but this still left about £7 on my card.

Luckily, the staff shop was doing three Cadbury's Creme Eggs for £1. You can't say fairer than that, nor find a better deal on the high street (believe me, I've tried). Those of you who've Plogged with me for a while will know I am a fan of Cadbury's Creme Eggs. Quite a big fan. I don't think we need to talk about it further (though rest assured, I have not joined any crappy Facebook groups proclaiming the fact)*. Reader, in short, I purchased 21 Cadbury's Creme Eggs.

"Never mind," I lied to myself, "they will see me through to the summer." I neglected to remind myself we already had a handful in the cupboard at home. "It's a bargain!" I told myself.

That evening, our lovely friend Brickwork came for dinner... bringing some Cadbury's Creme Egg Easter eggs. I was so excited, I did a little dance. Even more so when she told me they were both for me and TheBloke (TM) couldn't have any.

The next day, Erica and Dean came to stay for the weekend... bringing with them what is probably the best cake I have ever seen. Here it is!



This - for the uninitiated - is a chocolate orange cake decorated with Cadbury's Creme Eggs. You cannot have any. It is mine. Also, it is all gone now, as are all but three of its Creme Eggs. I don't want to talk about it. I've been in the house by myself a lot this week. Accidents happen.

So, last night, yet more friends came for dinner - cue Sarah and Martin, and another lovely box of Cadbury's Creme Eggs! I must be the luckiest Laura in the whole of Ilford (and possibly the whole of East London).

So anyway, TheBloke (TM) insisted I understood the magnitude of my greedy, greedy Creme Egg habit, and took photos of me with said eggs (please bear in mind I've eaten at least four this week...). Did it make me feel remorseful? Did it bollocks. My friends rock!

* Proving my point about my friends' loveliness - and sense of humour - my lovely friend Hazel has created the following group with a sense of irony and the requisite number of exclamation marks. Much like cultured guardsman Michael of Bethnal Green might say, "Go on, you know you want to!!": http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=402667614464&ref=ts

Friday, March 05, 2010

Fan-tastic

Ploggers, dear Ploggers. I know you have previously put up with my musings on Facebook, specifically status updates (see here: http://laurasplog.blogspot.com/2010/01/de-friended.html) but with some time on my hands this week, I've probably been spending more time on the site than I should have.

And I have noticed something new - the Facebook "groups" people join and the things they "become a fan of". As no stranger to (or critique of) fans with a genuine shared passion in something, I can totally understand groups dedicated to TV shows, music, celebrities even - I get it. And as for groups, well, I'm a happy member of the Facebook group which exists entirely to compare my high school headmistress with Andrew Lloyd Webber: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2265646064&ref=ts It's funny. Seems pointless to start with, but really it's a forum for people with a shared experience of the school to catalogue their memories. (i.e. bitch about teachers.)

I have no problem with any of this. However (there's always a "however" with me, isn't there), in my week off work here are some of the genuine Facebook groups that friends, relatives, casual acquaintances have joined:

  • I want to go on the rollercoaster on the Barclays advert!!!!!
  • Ever looked at your ex now and thought what the FUCK was I thinking?
  • I hate it when the snow turns to ice!!! (multiple exclamation marks seem a regular feature)
  • Keep all the Pontins staff the way they are now!!!!!!!
  • Join if you've seen SNOW this week!!!!

And here are some things my friends have "become a fan of"

  • Listening to that certain song over and over again
  • Oh just stop breathing, you vile little slag
  • If its got TITS or WHEELS its TROUBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (again, good grammar not a priority. Unlike the capitalised tits)
  • I'm dying to talk to you but I'm not gonna text first
  • Bring back LUCKY CHARMS cereal to the UK
  • I love Christmas!!!

I apologise to anyone who may recognise their own group there, but seriously, seriously did you need to join people who love Christmas or have seen snow? Why would you want to associate with people who listen to the same song over and over again? It's almost certainly not going to be the same song as you listen to. The only thing you've got in common with these people is an obsessive-compulsive disorder and a nasty Facebook habit.

And the rollercoaster on the Barclays advert isn't real. It'll be CGI'd. It would be very, very prohibitively expensive to build it. Honest. I've worked in marketing so I know what I'm talking about. And I would also be more interested to know if there are people who LOVE it (with many exclamations) when snow turns to ice.

Fuckwits.

Oh, hang on a minute, why do I have no Facebook contacts left? Anyone want to become a fan of "Laura has no friends"?

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Regression therapy

I'm currently in the middle of a week's annual leave, so I'm getting lots of little jobs done. So far I have achieved an almost unfeasible amount of Very Good Things Indeed. I am very proud of myself and have awarded myself a gold star for good behaviour.

Yesterday I returned to my old stomping ground in Bethnal Green. Well, you've got to do a bit of stomping, haven't you? I met a friend for a walk in Victoria Park and popped in to see my tenants. A few things had changed in the area in the six months since I was last there. The lesbian cafe* had closed down and a new handrail had been put up in the block where I used to live. Beyond that, it was much of a muchness.

I was delighted to see that my favourite notice was still up at the newsagents. In the five years I lived in Bethnal Green, this notice always took pride of place in the front window of the little Asian newsagents.


I love everything about this notice, from the fact that he is a cultured ex-guardsman, to the fact that - God knows how many years ago - he was 73, to the fact that in case there were any ladies dithering, he persuades them at the end with "Go on, you know you want to!!". Those cheeky two exclamation marks at the end, I imagine, make ladies swoon all over the country. Well, all over Bethnal Green anyway.

As I was trying to take a photo of it, as surreptitiously as possible (which wasn't that surreptitious as my phone is quite new and I'm still getting to grips with the photo function), a guy stopped and said to me, "That card has been there for about 20 years. And he was 73 then!" I quickly interjected with, "I'm taking a photo because it's funny, not because I'm going to call him!" I'm not sure if I was entirely believed.

Also, and on a slightly different tack, I'm not entirely sure that corrective discipline and "colonic therapy" go that nicely together. The mind boggles, and the buttocks clench.

So, anyone want to be brave and make Michael's day? Let me know how you get on. And whether he was firm but fair, dominant but cultured, and, of course, exactly what colonic therapy is. I look forward to hearing from you.


* I have no evidence that this was a lesbian cafe other than it only ever had women in it, and they only served organic, vegetarian food and a few of them had short hair. And it was called Wild Cherry. Which sounded vaguely suggestive at the very least.