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Life and Vincent

Welcome to the world of the Vincent D'Onofrio obsessed - and a bit of real life thrown in.

Sunday, July 05, 2015

How to boil mums...

...and over heat people.

Macavity doesn't go out very often, because he isn't brave enough to sidle past Twiglet. But when he does go, it's usully for quite a long time.

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Tuesday was hot, and he'd been mooching around for a while trying to pluck up the courage to take the plunge. By about 3pm he had definitely disappeared from the house. He wasn't home by midnight. He wasn't home in the morning. Wednesday was set to be the hottest July day ever (literally) at 35 C/95 F. I struggled to work, struggled at work, struggled home from work, then finding Mac was still missing, printed out some flyers and struggled round the streets leafletting.

Picture this. A block of houses about 80 houses long each side, each with 100 foot gardens backing on to one another. and you see the scale of the problem. Add the temperature and you may begin to appreciate how monstrous a task this was. Especially as the sun was shining on the front doors making the letterboxes so hot they could burn the fingers.

So, backing on to my house is number 119 of the street behind. When I got past it to number 123, I delivered the leaflet, walked back down the steps, down the short path, and then heard a quiet mew. I looked down and there, under a bush by the gate, was Mac. I scooped him up and started to walk home with him, a bunch of leaflets, a water bottle and my house keys stashed around my sweaty person.

By the time I reached the last house in the street I was ready to drop. A young woman walking towards me - a total stranger - turned into that house. I asked her if she drove the car parked there. She said no, but when she saw the situation, she invited me and Mac in for a drink. Never has a tall glass of iced water looked or tasted so good. Mac wandered round the house as if he lived there.

So when my drink was finished, I dared to ask if she would let me leave him there while I went to get my car and the cat basket. She agreed. When I came back less than 10 minutes later, her two housemates had arrived home, and Mac was surrounded by three adoring females, lapping up the adulation as to the manner born. I was told they'd cat-sit any time.

This is the fourth time locals have helped me get one of my cats back. And people ask me why I've stayed here so long. It's called great neighbours. Even ones you don't yet know and haven't yet met.

Last Street In Manhattan

Good to see Alex's family problems for a change. And the old raised eyebrow.

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Sunday, June 28, 2015

Boots On The Ground

One of those episodes with an absolutely pointless plot. Thanks goodness for the light shining on Bobby.



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Sunday, June 21, 2015

Seveonaks - home of the devil

Sevenoaks is expensive to live in. It considers itself a superior commuter town. So of course the number of Chelsea tractors per square inch is large. (For those of you not familiar with this term it refers to 4x4s, SUVs, Land Rovers etc.)

I lost count of those I saw in the small, overcrowded, inadequate car park there the other day. But it was one of the slightly less bulky monsters that decided to make it impossible for me to get in my car and leave.

 
Going in at an angle, he left me about 14 inches at the front end, decreasing to about 8 inches at the back. I couldn't even squeeze up to the door, which is very wide, let alone open it. As for climbing in - only if I turned myself into a lquid and someone poured me in.

I asked the car park attendant to give me some advice. He couldn't find the driver or move either vehicle, but he was empowered to give the driver a ticket (yay, £35, doubled if he doesn't pay within two weeks) and then a very kind gentleman climbed in through the passenger door, edged across and rolled my car out of the space. Thunderbirds we are go!.

The new Marks and Spencer in posh Sevenoaks had a great selection of vegetarian BBQ items that my impoverished local store (which is at least twice the size...) doesn't bother to stock. Don't bother trying to find out why, you never get a straight answer from them about their prejudice against to impecunious vegetarian. Believe me, I've tried repeatedly over many years.

Seveoaks is less than 25 miles from my home, and getting there usually takes between 30 and 45 minutes. But on Friday, getting back was a bit of a problem.

The dreaded M25 motorway that  encircles London was on an even slower go-slow than usual. I spotted a tail-back at Junction 4 (no warning signs even though it resulted from a crash in the tunnel under the Thames at Junction 1 many hours earlier) so I left the motorway to take the A road home. ALong with several hundred thousand other people, apparently, because the journey home took 2 hours!

I don't think I'll be going to Seveoaks again any time soon.


The Consoler

Icky icky nasty episode with slimey villains.


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