In which I talk about a cat, my DS , the problem of cushions and technivore Sofas.

I was going to say at this rate I'll catch Anna up in the blogging stakes... then I thought to check how many blogs she'd written.
Truth be told I'm going to have to procrastinate A LOT to catch up with her.

But then gimme a month and I'll be back at uni and have plenty to complain about. Like "I can't get the oven to work, the Sofa ate my phone- (seriously, my friends have the same sofas, they are technivores. Well I suppose they're more omnivorous, but still), the new swimming pool charges too much but; Hey! No naked old wrinkly biddies discussing Vera's new hat! Well ok, they'll be there but I can hide in a cubicle and, as such, not have to try and dress with my eyes closed.

I'm getting off topic, this is usually a good sign, it means that I'm functioning. (It's a commonly known fact I can't concentrate for love nor money, and my chain of thought is so random that I end up thoroughly confuddling everyone)
If I stay on track it means either A) I'm not communicating, B) I'm ill, or C) both of the above.

I was made to put my floordrobe away today, putting my floordrobe away is rather hazardous.
It means opening the wardrobe.
I tend to open the wardrobe so its slightly ajar and then hurl what ever junk I can't find a home for, in.

Today I had to open it. Fully.

Well I say fully. I opened one door fully. The dangerous side remained shut behind the computer chair.

On the floor was my DS.

Not much tidying got done.

Digging up Pokémon fossils was WAAAAY more fun.

When it comes to housework Games consoles are dangerous.  They stop work.  And wind mothers up. Mothers can wind themselves up enough without help.

Eventually I got round to finishing my room.

Now if you're a regular reader you will have read that in recent weeks I have developed a problem.

I have started to buy cushions. They have begun to take over my life.

Well... maybe just my room. I now have 3 bags full of cushions in my room; and I'm running out of space for them. If ANYONE catches me in a store anywhere near cushions please remind me I have no room for them. If I don't listen don't try further intervention. I may harm you. I don't want to but I have a habit of picking up the last pair at a bargain price. (Winces in pain at thought of lost opportunity shoes).
I don't feel good if I am skint enough to walk away.
But still the leaning tower of Cushions is looking ever more precarious as the minutes tick by.
And I have a peculiar need for Jelly Babies.

In fact should my lack of Jelly Babies situation persist I may end up like George the Cat.
George belongs to my next door neighbours.
I wish I had a photo of him. He's the sort of cat who would enjoy having his photo taken.
He's king of all he surveys, (or so he thinks, there is a usurper who keeps stealing his food, about this he is less than happy)
He sits in the shade (usually the doorstep or squatting under the car) scowling at everything.
This would by quite so funny if he were such a ridiculously fluffy blacky/brown/slightly greying cat, with this giant ruff like mane that puts me in mind of Henry VIII especially as the browny bits go distinctly Ginger in the summer.
In the cat ranks he's probably incredibly selfish, he puts on brilliant displays of attention seeking.
Think Simon's Cat but middle aged and grumpy.
I linked that video because according to his owner that's George at 5AM. He believes that's breakfast time. Apparently one must start to be lazy as early as possible,

I miss George at uni. He makes me giggle just by scowling from under the car.

Also if you've never seen Simon's Cat before, did you get lost in the bottom of my wardrobe?

Off to find Jelly Babies...
Bethxx