Bathroom Boy

Beds are different things to different people.

Welcome to Faggots World.

Meanwhile.....

Lulu lays in her luxuriant sleigh bed and wonders what the cats are having for breakfast.

Mothers little helper

When Trotter woke up this morning he was dismayed to find that Martha hadn't wet the bed, what with the new incontinence sheet and everything.

So to make her feel a bit better he pissed on her pillows then had a big poo on the floor.

There's no place like home.

Shame

There has been a carnival air in the house this afternoon as the cats prepared Martha's bedroom for the delivery of her new mattress with specially re-enforced plastic top sheet, to guard against urine.

As the cats springcleaned and Lulu supervised from the hallway in a hard hat, shouting directions and smoking a cigar, Trotter could be seen lurking in an suspicious manner in the corner.

'What ever is the matter?', asked Fing

'Well, i'm a little bit embarressed', says Trotter.

'I didn't realise Martha was incontinent'.

He knows

The pets are writing their letters to Father Christmas.

Tutz would like new attachments and upgrades to her scratchy pole.

Fat Boy Faggot would like a special cat hammock for the side of the bath.

Truly Scumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west is asking for a waterbed and a years supply of chocolate eclairs.

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, is asking for a chamois leather, so she can buff herself up to a wondrous and near impossible shine in the morning.

Fing, the cat I can't forget, wants a new samba outfit and an E Type Jag.

And Trotter? Poor Dear Demented Trotter wants a beautiful beaded ruff, in scarlet. He wants a battery powered toy car and a pretend sub machine gun. He wants a toy train and an eagle eye action man.

Poor Trotter. The way it's going its going to be yet another year of disappointment with nothing but a lump of coal in the bottom of his stocking.

Love

Until one has Loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened.
~Anatole France~

The Wanderer's Return

Some of you may be wondering where the pets have been for the past few days.

Strangely enough they have just returned from Reading Festival, where they have been very drunk, spilling around listening to Rock music, vomiting behind bushes and talking to complete strangers about absolute crap.

Such is festival life.

They put up their 6 pet tent, unrolled their sleeping bags and unloaded their provisions.

They wandered around site and watched the parade pass before them.

They watched Placebo, the Streets, The Kaiser Cheifs and the Arctic Monkeys. Trotter was very excited about the Arctic Monkeys and could be seen crowd surfing at the front.

Tutz enjoyed the burlesque circus and wonders if being suspended from the ceiling by large hooks in your back might be a bit stingy.

Fing spent an hour and a half queing for the showers only to realise, when a large man stumbled out of a cubicle all covered in soap suds, that they were all, infact, fucked, and was forced to join the hoi polloi in the communal showers, a distressing experience that he hopes never to experience ever again.

They met some cool people, some fucked people, some were handsome, but most pig ugly.

They have returned today exhausted and are now planning some home improvements and college courses for the new year.

Poochies - Patrick Moore impression

Poochies - Crazy like a Fox Impression

All night long

Fing had a dreadful nights sleep.

He went to bed early in his customary hair net and silk pajama's and to begin with was kept awake by a very irritating sawing noise.

The sawing was replaced at an indiscriminate time by Hercules yelping and Andray shouting loudly 'DID YOU JUST STEP ON MY DOG?!?'

Fing sighed and changed position to lay on his side and listened as the kids started to rap in a freestyle, disjointed, fashion on the street corner, and wished they could only string a sentance together normally, let alone try to rhyme.

I couldn't tell at which point he finally drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, only to be rudely awoken at 3 by a fracas around the corner at the crack house.

At this point he abandoned his bed and went downstairs and smoked a large cuban cigar to settle his nerves.

Meaning of life

"Well, at least my life hasn't been wasted so far" says Trotter proudly to Fing.

Trotter and Fing's Book Club

This months recommended reading by the pets is as follows:

Fing would like to recommend 'The Power of One' by Bryce Courtenay - a moving account of a young white boys growth into adulthood in apartheid South Africa, Fing is particularly moved by Pekay's relationship with his Chicken, Grampa Chook.

Tutz would like to recommend 'The Enchanted Wood' by Enid Blyton. Tutz would very much like to live in the magic Faraway Tree and imagines that there may be a world at the top of her scratchy pole if only she could find it.

Fat Boy Faggot would like to recommend 'On Sparta' by Plutarch and thinks that everyone would benefit from the Spartan lifestyle, amongst the other advantagess of ancient Greek life.

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, would like to recommend 'Glory Road' by Robert Heinlein, as she would very much like the oppourtunity to travel through 20 universes fighting dragons and giants with a sword.

Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the cubbiest dog in the West, would like to recommend 'Cakes and Pastries' by Marks and Sparks, its a great cookery book and the cakes are to die for.

Trotter doesn't care which Title you choose as book of the month, but only asks that you try and read Hardbacks, as Paperback books upset him and have to be savagely destroyed.

Please look out for the Trotter & Fing sticker in all good bookshops near you, book club members receive a 10% discount and a previously savaged paperback to use as a door stop.

No, No, No, Yes.

"Who is that?", asks Trotter.

"No one knows", Says Fing.

no, no, no, know

"well, if you didn't know already you'd never guess he was a hairdresser", says Trotter to Fing.

Oh, no, no, no, no

"Do you think he knows us?" says Trotter to Fing.

Not Forgotten

Trotter is amazed to find Fing, sobbing hysterically, upon the sofa. Not only sobbing but wearing a sequinned suit, black wig and clutching a bottle of Southern Comfort, from which he has clearly imbibed.

'Whats the matter?', he asks the clearly distraught Fing.

'You DONT KNOW?' sobs the boy,

Trotter, confused, thinks for a moment and says, 'If I knew I wouldnt have to ask',

'You're right, says Fing, 'I shouldn't shout at you, with your poor tormented mind, its 29 years ago today that Elvis passed away'

'Christ', says Trotter, 'No wonder you're all shook up!'

Abstract.

Margo would like the world to know that it's not easy to wear trousers that look like Salvadore Dali's moustache.

Meanwhile...

......In a watery, alternative, reality, Codpiece, Willy and Spunk eat colour enhancing granules and dream of the open ocean.

One of Tutz Favourite Songs

Fish Heads by Barnes and Barnes

Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm

In the morning
Laughing, happy
Fish Heads
In the evening
Floating in the soup

Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm

Ask a Fish head
Anything you want to
They won't answer
They can't talk

Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm

I took a Fish head
Out to see a movie
Didn't have to pay
To get it in

Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
They can't play baseball
They don't wear sweaters
They're not good dancers
They don't play drums

Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm

Every day's a school day.

Today, Fing is teaching the other pets to crochet.

Fat Boy Faggot is trying to make a doiley.

Tutz, in her own mindless world of insanity, has created a large green dinosaur, that Fing eye's disapprovingly.

Truly Scumptious Lulu, the Chubbiest Dog in the west is making a bikini.

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, is making camouflage netting.

Trotters has made himself some small booties and a large white cape in which he intends to pretend to be a superhero and rid the estate of evil.

Fing has made a beautiful pair of slacks to wear to his new samba class.

Tomorrow the pets will attend a lecture in Quantum Physics and discuss Steven Hawkins and his wheelchair.

What the pets are doing, right now...

In the sitting room Fing is dusting listening to Martha's Dr Hook CD.

In the bedroom Tutz is watching a documentary on the indigenous peoples of the South American Rainforest.

In Martha's room Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug Face is putting up some new curtains and changing the bed clothes.

In the bathroom Fat Boy Faggot is plucking his eyebrows before washing the immac of his back, sack and crack.

In the kitchen Truly Scrumptious Lulu is making pancakes and drinking Jack Daniels with orange.

And in the hallway Trotter is waiting for Martha to get home.

Street Ducks

As you are aware, homeless ducks have become a major problem in Oxford, unfortunately, the rivers are so full of pleasure cruisers and punters, swans, coots, old cars and shopping trollies that the ducks have been forced to live on the harsh concrete streets.

In some area's of Oxford the ducks have taken to squatting in University Buildings and peck in an embittered fashion at the feet of passing office workers.

So next time you think about going on a boat trip or laugh causually as you push an old car down the river bank, think.

Think about street ducks and the rising level of drug abuse and alcoholism in ducklings. Think of their tiny webbed feet all meant for water going crispy on the concrete.

Just Think!

Together we can work it out.

Trotwear

For Standard Lamps Savaged with Love.

Trotwear can be found in a Pound Paradise near you!

In a seperate time zone.......

Meanwhile, an overly excited Fat Boy Faggot, Tutz, Truly Scrumptious Lulu and Giggsey Girl the Stupid slug face are driving to London in Lulu's mini minor, on route to a Madonna concert.

What can I say?

Fat Boy Faggot screamed himself hoarse with adoration as his idol strutted her stuff up and down the stage.

Truly Lu spent most of the concert bouncing up and down trying to see the stage.

But Tutz and Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face found the entire concert overly contrived and were irritated by Madonna's buttocks.

The Northern Lights

Trotter and Fing drove to Blackpool in Fing's ferrari on Saturday morning. On Fat Boy Faggots suggestion they booked into a delightful camp hotel opposite the Flying handbag, they polled up, booked in, unpacked and went down and had a glass of wine.

The boys had never been to Blackpool and set off to the front to look for donkeys and were sorely disappointed when all they could find were obese people in motorized wheelchair's.

They went to the pleasure beach and purchased buckets and spades and were very disappointed when they were made to leave the beach due to the 'No Dogs April - September' policy. There was a little consternation as the sign did not say 'no cats' so Fing stayed on the beach and pissed on everyone's parade before he was chased off by an irate holiday maker with a wet towel in his hand.

Laughing to themselves about their naughtiness they went back to the hotel and ordered more wine.

After a small snack the boys set off to Funny Girls, where they had previously booked a table. They found themselves sitting next to an ex miner from Cardiff who's wife had run off with his brother, they told him that they really weren't interested thank you very much, and would he mind shutting the fuck up so they could watch the show?

After the show they went to Flamingoes and danced like spastics on acid before returning to the hotel to collapse in bed.

Fing awoke with the most terrible blisters from his new white brogues and found it so difficult to walk that the hotel's proprietor asked if he'd been gang raped in the night.

Sunday was another day of heavy drinking interspersed with a show by Fings favorite drag act - Kitty Litter. Trotter can't remember very much of this evening as he went back to the hotel for some pro plus and woke up the next morning on top of the bed, still fully dressed.

The next day Fing's ankles had still not calmed down so the boys got back in the ferrari and wove their weary way home.

Fangs for the Memory

Fing reads to Trotter from the Guardian,

"Guard dog mauls Elvis's teddy in rampage -

When Barney met Mabel, there was an instant - and fatal - chemical reaction.
On Tuesday night the doberman pinscher guard dog, after six years' blameless service, went berserk: within minutes Mabel, a 1909 German-made Steiff teddy bear once owned by Elvis Presley, more recently the pride and joy of an English aristocrat, lay mortally wounded.

Barney went on to rampage through hundreds of rare teddies, all on loan to Wookey Hole Caves in Somerset, and so valuable that the insurers had insisted on a guard dog to protect the premises at night. The aftermath, according to shocked staff, was appalling: shattered limbs, gouged eyes, ears torn off, and pools of sawdust everywhere."

Fing looks at Trotter over the top of his bi-focals and asks,

"Is he a relative?"

http://www.guardian.co.uk

Tiny One

Tutz bounces around the bedroom like bambi.

She thunders around like a herd of enraged baby elephants.

Occaisionally she will stop - dead in her tracks - with a look of complete amazement on her face. Where is she? Who are these other cats? Why is SHE a cat? She will stand in the silence and PRROOOTTT to herself before racing out of the door at a hundred miles an hour to tackle the rest of the upstairs.

She hides in the airing cupboard until Trotter has walked past.

She leaps like a flying bat from the top layer of her scratchy pole. She knocks over pictures in frames and knocks hats from on top of the shelves.

She puts on 50 Cent and then some G Unit and chants some offensive rap at Fat Boy Faggot who is lying in the bath with a face pack on.

She trys on shoes and chases flies, she slithers from layer to layer of her pole.

Then she curls up into a tiny ball and sleeps the sleep of the dead, conserving her energy for the next assault on the house.

Strike him off

My boy Fing, as you aware, has recently returned from a trip to the vets.

The Scottish vet, questioning my sanity, said he had 'probably hit himself in the eye with a stick or some such stuff'.

Question my sanity?

So how come the fucker missed the massive great big bite mark under Fings eye that has now become apparent now the eye is no longer swollen?

I'd call up and give them a piece of my mind, but there isn't much left that isn't addled with drink and drugs.

much ado about nothing.

Trotter is bored.

He is bored of chewing up the furniture, bored of pooing upstairs.

Bored of chasing Fat Boy Faggot and bored of harrassing Tutz.

He is bored of barking at Thelma and bored of party manifesto's.

He is bored of being locked in the kitchen when people leave the house and bored of being kept on a lead when he has been too naughty.

(It is not his fault, he beleives, that he has just too much naughtiness inside him all waiting to burst out)

He is bored of Karen Carpenter and bored of chedder cheese.

He is bored of Ice Hockey and bored of Bumble Bees.

Bored.

He lies on the sofa in a dejected heap and sighs.

Rose Garden

In some places Cowboys like to aggravate their herds by line dancing in an mad and frenetic fashion.

Unfortunately this can be fatal as horses detest line dancing and will trample you to death without so much as a by your leave or a beg your pardon.

Death by trampling is more likely to happen if you aggravate your herd in the open, as Horses do not frequent bars, night clubs or village halls.

Machine.

Fing was very interested to read that the largest object to be found in the universe resembles nothing so much more than a swarm of giant green jellyfish.

Not only this, but as the object is 200 million light years away, astronomers are actually looking back in time, at something 12 billion years ago.

He is amazed.

Who ever would have imagined that Jellyfish could time travel?

Sunshine

Trotter was very confused about the article he read about the Python who ate an electric blanket in America.

He thought it was hot in America.

Ouchy

...needlepoint?' I asked, 'he does enjoy a spot of embroidery and I wondered, in your opinion, if he may have slipped and caught himself in the eye with his needle?'

The Scottish vet looked at me for a moment, and said

'In my professional opinion Ms Hartley, I think it likely that he has perhaps caught his eye on a twig, or some such stuff, while in the garden. Also, that you might consider professional help yourself'

Fing

I don't know what Boy has done, but he has the gammiest eye in creation. I think he may of been fighting, been jabbed by a sharp stick as he came over the garden fence, or has inadvertently poked himself in the retina with a sewing needle, in a horrific needlepoint accident.

Vets at 7.20.

Maelstrom

Trotter did not like the thunder last night. Originally the roiling noise in the background had left him undisturbed until a massive crack awoke him and the chubbiest dog, who started to bark in distress.

Trotter, convinced we were perhaps being burgled, ran downstairs to run around aimlessly barking at the darkness.

In the end I had to have him in bed with me where he grumbled unhappily for quite some time.

Poor Trotter.

A Descent of Woodpeckers.

'Fing', asks Trotter,' what would you call it if it was a group of sharks, is it a shaol?'

'No', says Fing, 'That would be a Shiver of sharks'

'It is?' says Trotter, then thinks for a while. 'And hippo's, what is a group of Hippo's called'

'A Bloat', says Fing, casting a sideways glance at Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest Dog in the West.

'Bears?'

'a Sloth

'Giraffes?'

'a Tower

'Ravens?'

'an Unkindness

'And Me, Fing, what would a group of me be?'

'Well now Trotter, I think you'll find that would be a Chaos', says Fing, before swanning out of the door in his new leather swimming trunks and black afro wig.

Dead Men Tell No Tails

Captain Skipjack is patrolling the beer garden, he is trying to walk with a rolling gait to feel like he is at sea. Unfortunately the hard concrete does not feel like wood. Tragically there are no sails flapping overhead, no sea air in his whiskery face. He sighs and sticks his head through the gate for an experimental sniff, no. No tuna.

But wait! What was that?

Shiver me timbers! There's only a scurvy riddled rat edging its way incautiously down the side of the fence by the beer barrels!

Captain Jack calls fall his trusty, if distracted, bosun Lucas by day, Duncan by Night!

Lucas by day, Duncan by night had been standing and wagging his tail at the corner of the sitting room since breakfast so was more than prepared for the challenge. He raced down the stairs and harried the scurvy riddled rat! He chased him round the barrels, he caught him by the tail and killed him all of a sudden with not even so much as an apology!

'WOOF' barks the Captain! 'WOOF' and him and the Bosun run like maniacs round and round the garden to celebrate.

Crazy like a FOX!

Fing practises his crazy Samba rythms to Shakira's 'Whenever Wherever'

As he weaves across the floor he sings at the top of his voice,

'Lucky that my lips not only mumble
They spill kisses like a fountain
Lucky that my breasts are small and humble
So you don't confuse them with mountains
Lucky i have strong legs like my mother
To run for cover when i need it
And these two eyes are for no other
The day you leave will cry a river'

And can't help but wonder if the poor woman has a drug problem.

They couldn't touch us even if they tried

The pets are laying in the garden in small, hot, furry heaps, Fing has purchased a paddling pool for everyone and they are taking it in turns to dangle their paws in the water.

They are listening to Stevie Wonder's 'Hotter than July' and wondering how it could possibly be hotter without the world bursting into flame.

'I wish I was a Fish'. says Trotter and, for once, everyone agree's with him.

A Tall Tale

'Racoons are the most dangerous animals in the world. They are more dangerous than a charging bull elephant, more lethal than a hippo playing water polo.

They are more menacing than a pride of lions, tackling with them is more perilous than poking a cobra with a stick.

They will break into your house and raid the fridge, they will turn on your telly and watch the superbowl, then they will crap in your cupboard, trash the bin, rip up your clothes and then get trapped somewhere by accident.

It is at this point that they are most dangerous because when you find them in their trapped place they will probably be wearing your underwear and they are so embarrassed at being caught that they react with extreme violence - leaping from the trapped place and attacking your ankles'.

Fing looks at Trotter with a sceptical eye and asks, 'Are you sure you're not making this up as you go along?'

'No,' says Trotter. 'I know this for a fact as I am distantly related to them'

'Saints preserve us' mutters Fing and gets back to his broidery anglaise.

Carpe Diem

Yesterday I found Trotter in the hallway, furiously shredding something held in his tiny paws.

What could it be I wondered?

Why, it was the conservative party manifesto.

That's my boy!

Strange but True.

In some gardens there are pretty flowers.

In some there are cabbages and marrows and runner beans.

Some are covered in paving slabs whilst others are nothing but long grass.

In Thelma's garden there are dead herbs and a wastepipe that leads to an alternative Narnia where Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face is a tax inspector apparently.

Stranger things have happened at sea, but not much in my experience.

lacking

'Look Missus', says Ginge, the Ginger Junkie, to Varne, 'i'm telling you now there just isn't enough blanket here'

'So', asks Fing, after a lengthy discussion, 'in your opionion, what did the Roman's ever do for us?'



Tutz stretches on the second floor of her scratchy pole until her face is completely upside down yet on a level with Fing's, 'pppppprrrrOOOOOOOOTttttttt' she says, 'PPRROOTTTT!'



The other pets nod thoughtfully and consider her words for a moment, 'that's as may be Tutz' says Trotter, 'but I think their main achievement must surely be cement?'



'What about underfloor heating?' ask Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, 'Or lovely straight roads?' says Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face.



'come, come' says Fat Boy Faggot, briskly from beside the book case, 'surely it's got to be Prada, Diesel and Gucci?'

Fundraiser.

It was a lovely day as the pets gathered in the Brewery Gate to join in the Oxford Pride Sponsored walk. Fat Boy Faggots thorny paw had healed up quite nicely and everyone commented on how brave he was to soldier on with such an injury.

Fing wore his new pink sun visor and Trotter wore welly boots, just in case of inclement weather.

Shane was wearing his hot pants underneath his trousers, just in case of emergency and Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, was wearing a crash helmet as she had no idea what to expect and is, afterall, stupid.

We were also joined by Winnie, Win win win, ex landlady of the Jolly, and tiny Margo form Cuddesdon, all resplendent in a blue sparkly collar and matching hotpants.

There was an air of great excitement and jollity, and the pets couldn't help but notice that several of the walkers were a little bit tip-toir, if not downright pissed as parrots.

Off they set, down Walton Street to the Jude, then to the Victoria arms. After a calm start to the day they then set off across the meadow.

No one had mentioned the heard of cows, the cow-pats, the thistles or the belligerent horses that wouldn't speak to you no matter how hard you tried.

Lorna, who had joined us at the Vicky, only has open toed sandals on so she suffered the most with the thistles, although even with socks and trainers in those bloody things made quite an impression.

We ordered drinks at the Trout and collapsed in an untidy jumble in the Garden. There was a feeling that the bar staff didn't approve of the drunkenness, but then, it might have been pets in hotpants, crash helmets and welly boots that tipped them over the edge. Who can be certain, but they were all a bit thin lipped and posh and wouldn't serve Trotter chips with chicken nuggets. Poor Trotter.

And so, the end was near, and we charged back across the meadow, choosing the quicker, straight across the meadow, route. This was very fool hardy as the thistles here were even bigger and the cows had been doing landscape gardening and had ploughed up all the ground.

None the less we made it, back to the Brewery Gate where a lovely buffet awaited.

indeed

Fat Boy Faggot returned from a nights cruising with a thorn in his paw. He sat with great stoicsm as Fing removed the thorn with a pair of tweezers.

I'm very worried about the sponsored walk tomorrow, he confided to Fing,

How on earth am I supposed to troll up the tober with a naff bat?

A spoonful of sugar

She proved to be quite a treasure as a nurse,' reads Fing to Trotter, 'Of course her kennel was in the nursery. She had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with and when it needs a stocking around your throughout'

Trotters eyes are as round as saucers, I don't like the sound of that!' he says.

Fing closes his book and looks at Trotter over the top of his bi focals.

'I overheard Martha talking with Varne in the kitchen the other day. Apparently this Nana is coming to whip you into shape'

'it'll take more than a St Bernard in a pinny to whip me into shape!', cries Trotter! and with a 'HA HA HA HA!!!' runs up the stairs for his black cape.

Fing smiles his evil malicious smile and wonders how much trouble Trotter will be in by the time Martha gets home.

Selby

'where have you been'? Asks Fing.

'Wierdly enough, I've been talking to that Squirrel that lives in our tree', says Trotter, 'Did you know that the Squirrels of the world are presently fighting a war of attrition against the other rodents?'

Fing raises a graceful beige eyebrow, 'Attrition?'

'Yes apparently, the Squirrels, led by Selby in the back yard, are currently fighting against a combined hoard of Stoats, Weasels, Ferrets and Gerbils. Although the Squirrels have numbers on their side, apparently the Stoats are dead good mechanics and as a result have light armored infantry'

'Well I hope the Stoat's win, says Fing, 'In my opinion Squirrels are nothing but rats with bushy tails, and the way that one fiddles with his nuts at the end of the garden is really beginning to annoy me.'

Some Places

In some places in the world Goats are irrigation experts and enjoy long lives as engineers building wells and channels made from mud and elephant dung. The Goats take no payment for their toils as they enjoy enriching the lives of small black children such as these.

In other places Goats are wrongly accused of being devil worshippers and are victimized by local Christians and those with learning disabilities.

And I Say to Myself

What a wonderful world.

Fings Proverb of the Day

Better to live one day as a tiger than a thousand years as a sheep.

Trotters Proverb of the Day

The Bigger they are, the harder they fall.

BOY

OH MY GOD I love him so much I could eat him up whole.

TUTZ and her stretchy legs.

Crock revisited

Why is the rainbow on fire?' whispers Trotter.

'I told you not to take that Acid' says Fing.

Kick Arse

I get no kick from champagne
Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a kick out of Trot.

Some get their kicks from cocaine
I'm sure that if I took even one sniff
That would bore me terrifically too,
But I get a kick out of Trot.

Oh I get a kick out of Trot!!!!!

TROTTER!

Patches

We are all long familiar with Trotter and his peculiarities.

When he barks at you when you're eating pizza you give him the crust.

When someone needs to leave the house you feed him cheese.

Friends and family enter the house holding their bags above their heads.

All the cushions need to be on the bench to stop him humping them.

We smile at him fondly when he repeately wanders around the table, time and time again, in a happy yet distracted fashion.

We shout at him loudly when he barks at Thelma and wave his bowl over his head if we need to make him drop something.

So when Trotter suddenly started to calmy lick my leg earlier, slightly below the knee, I didn't think it unusual. As he continued to lick my leg I was suddenly over come with a deep and abiding love the poor, derranged, little man.

It wasn't until I was in the bath that I realised the little bastard had licked off all my fake tan. I look like one of those people with a wierd pigmentation problem. I had better not let him lick my arms or my other leg because I might end up looking like Michael Jackson, but with a nose.

The Sound of Silence

This week Fing has been listening to Nana Mouskouri.

Tutz has been listening to Terror Squad.

Fat Boy Faggot has been listening to Euphoric dance.

Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, has been listening to Led Zeppelin.

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, has been listening to James Blunt, because she's wierd like that.

Trotter? Trotter has been listening to Abba's greatest hits and singing along all out of tune. But we love him so we don't care.

Ouchy

It was a day of ups and downs for Trotter and Fing yesterday.

An up for Fing, who found a pair of lovely shorts in pri mark for only £1.

A day of downs for Trotter, who went arse over tit on some discarded cabbage leaves outside of Sainsburys.

He has a terribly bruised behind.

lullaby

Trotter is still feeling fractious after yesterdays ill conceived trip to the baths.

He is grumpy and sulky and generally morose. He has refused to bark at Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, he will not run round the table in a happy and aimless fashion, worst of all, he just watched Fat Boy Faggot sidle past him with no interest of chasing him up the stairs.

Fing decides that drastic action must be taken, and forces a spikey, scratchy, Trotter to lie on the sofa. He sings,

'Rock a Bye Trotter, On the Tree Top,

When the bough wind blows the cradle will rock,

When the

'Why am I up a tree?' asks Trotter.

'What?'

'Why am I up a tree?'

'You're not up a tree, its a lullaby'

'Whats a lullaby'

'look, just shut up and go to sleep'

'THIS ISN'T HELPING!!!'

Shouts Trotter and in a fit of pique destroys a cushion and a jacket left incautiously on the back of the sofa, they storms around the house barking like a thing possessed.

'Thanks for that old Chum', he says to Fing, before chasing Fat Boy up the stairs and making a thorough nuisance of himself in the bathroom.

Hotter than July

It is a lot hotter than the pets thought it would be today so Fing took all the pets to Hinksey Swimming Pools to enjoy the day, splash in the pools and relax in the sun.

Tragically it all went horribly and hideously wrong when Trotter emerged from the changing rooms in his pink spangly thong.

You could hear the screams from the town centre.

On the drive home a sullen Trotter said that he thought it was a bit of an over reaction, it wasn't as if it was fucking Jaws in the water.

crock of gold

Fing and Faggot and pink and green,

orange and Giggsey and Tutz,

I can sing a catbow,

sing a catbow,

Sing a cat bow too.

Audrey

despite his heartburn, Shane is trying to tempt the pets with some silverskin onions.

Fing isn't bothered, with chap's that chafe at dawn he doesn't need further complications.

Guest Pet of the week - Louis Vuitton

Likes: Small woodland creatures, Beetroot and Moths

Dislikes: Anything with 2 legs and black binbags

Age: One and a half with a mental age of an ameoba

Distinguishing features: Beefy Barrow Boy who has grown into his eyes

Habits and problem behaviours: Killing baby rabbits at BBQ's and jumping on you when you are asleep while squeeking 'Its a long way to Trickafairy'

The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul

Trotter and Fing have just had their first taste of the Bat and Ball in Cuddesdon. They were not unduly impressed.

They walked in and the place smelled of fish, Andi and Shane asured them this was not the norm and secured stools to sit on.

Unfortunately the floor is set at a rakish angle and Trotter and Fing felt like they were at sea, as if on the Titanic, all brahms and list. In the end a complex game of musical chairs ensued with much consternation.

All this was watched by a hideous, homophobic crowd, I pointed out to Fing that a large black moustache, chaps and a leather harness may not be the most suitable apparel for a village pub but he was unrepentant.

Trotter supped his stout, Fing downed his small schooner of sweet sherry and the rest of us finished off our wine before we beat a hasty retreat.

Shane is suffering from the most awful Katherine heartburn.

Addicted

'You're just not old enough to understand the lure of a packet of ginger nuts Trotter my friend', says Fing, reminiscing over a cup of tea and a hob nob, 'once, ha! Once, I ate a whole packet in one sitting!'

'that can't be good for you though mate', says Trotter from the doorway,

I'd wasn't under the suggestion of a fitness instructor!' laughs Fing from the sofa, 'I just couldn't stop, dunked one biscuit, then the next! Before I knew it the entire packet was gone and yet still I wanted more!'

'Who would have thought it?' purrs Faggot from the grate, 'Ginger nuts, the crack/cocaine of the biscuit world'

Paradise Lost

It is pandemonium in the house.

The washing machine has flooded the kitchen and a lake of water covers the ground floor.

Trotter races around in a madly excited fashion, taking corners at speed, spraying water over the furniture.

Faggot is being sick on the sofa because he ate all the cat food, far too quickly, and the sick slithers down the side of the sofa to dilute into the flood waters on the floor.

Tutz and Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face ,have made a raft out of a dustbin lid and are floating morosely, hoping for dry land.

Lulu sleeps impervious to the damp.

And Fing? Fing has pulled all the clean washing off the side onto the floor and now it is soaking wet and smelling of damp. In the sitting room he has pulled the throws to the floor and thrown cushions at Trotter as he raced by, Fing does not appreciate being wet. He has pissed on the clothes and stood by as Trotter savaged the cushions. He has watched as the waves caused by Trotters racing have thrown the cats off course in their dustbin lid raft, into the glass cabinet, knocking over some of Marthas priceless crystal.

All this he has watched with a satisfied smile

He thinks that it is Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.

Need?

Fing was very dissapointed with the other pets over the weekend and decided to shown his displeasure by pissing on my favourite red shoes, my umbrella, the Oxford Pride Sponsored Walk forms and my clean washing.

Sometimes I wish the other pets would humour him more.

The Weekend

Fing plans a weekend free from football. Martha is away and as he is the oldest pet in the house he is in charge.

He has decided that on Saturday he will gather all the pets on the grass outside the house and will teach them samba.

In the Evening he will cook everyones favourite food on the BBQ and then they will watch a film (He makes a mental note to avoid Interview with a vampire after the last fiasco with Vampire films, Trotter and black capes.)

Sunday he might take the others punting. It is a weekend filled with coutless posibilities and incredable joys.

Tragically, he has failed to notice Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug Face and Trotter wheel a keg of ale into the house, they have much different plans for the weekend.

There may be trouble ahead.

COME ON!

The pets celebrated Englands win by getting drunk on sweet sherry and doing the okey cokey around the house in a giddy and excitable manner.

I say the pets, I must obviously exclude my boy, Fing, who sat on the stairs with a look of such extreme distaste on his wretched, spiky, face, that one could have imagined he was sucking on lemon concentrate.

Snob.

England

Trotter stands by the back door in his no8 Frank Lampard England Shirt.

"COME ON ENGLAND"

he barks.

Fancy Dress

I tell the pets that they have been invited to a fancy dress party.

"What is Fancy Dress?" asks Trotter, so I show him this picture of a pug on his way to a Harry Potter theme night.



Trotter looks at the picture then looks at me.

"If you try to do that to me, he says, I will chew off your hands and leave you with bleeding stumps"

Trotter will not be going to the Ball.

Thelma

Trotter spent a very disturbed evening at home yesterday and had to be bribed with copious amounts of cheese and chicken pieces to stop him barking.

His arch enemy, Themla, was in her garden next door, Thelma, who would fit in the cast of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' was enjoying the sun. She was talking to her tomotoes, dancing and clapping like a disjointed marionette with most of the strings missing. She was wearing a stretchy headband with bits of dandelion leaves underneath to shelter her eyes from the sun.

Trotter has a seventh sense and knows she is in the garden even if we have all the curtains closed and the TV up really loud. Thelma's mental emanations seep through the floor and Trotter picks it up like radar.

It drives him to distraction and he barks in a frenzy unable to stop. He has to be put on his lead and held like a baby and talked to in quiet calming tones, but unfortunately this is only a short term measure as as long as she's in the garden he barks.

Poor us.

1966

"Are you looking forward to the World Cup FIng?" asks a happy Trotter, stood by the door wagging his tail.

"The World Cup?" hisses Fing, looking at Fing through his bi-focals over the top of his embroidery,"The World Cup?"

"Yes Fing", says Trotter, not taking the hint, "The World Cup"

Fing is so taken aback at the affront to his dignity that he drops a stitch and pricks his paw with the needle.

"How do you think I am?" he crys, horrified, "Have I taught you nothing? Have you not listened to the words of Lucian with me? Have I not read aloud the Masvani to help you sleep? We're you not paying attention when I took you to the Ridgeway and showed you Scutchermers Knob?"

There is silence from the doorway and sudden absence of wagging tail.

"I don't remember the knob" says Trotter.

Where the Streets have no Name

We secretly filmed these ducks jogging through the estate trying to keep fit.

Ducks belong in water, not on concrete!

"Build more Resevoirs" we scream! "Rights for Ducks!"

Quackers

It is not common knowledge that there are more ducks than human beings in the UK.

This is no where more apparent than the streets of Oxford, where the overcrowding has forced the ducks on to the streets.

Here we can see a troupe of street ducks by the Westgate Car Park. When I spoke to them they told me they had been begging for crusts and spare change.

So much for lending a sympathetic ear.

The little fuckers mugged me and made of with my sandwiches.

Once upon a long ago Martha had a bay tree.

Martha loved her bay tree with a single minded devotion that had spanned ten years. She wanted it to be a standard, not a common bush, and for the past ten years had been carefully pruning, smiling lovingly at the tree. She pruned and smiles, smiled and pruned, occaisionally touching a leaf and telling it it was a lovely tree.

Trotter would watch Martha as she stood outside talking to the tree and so it was perhaps unfortunate that one day Fing opened the back door and let Trotter out.

Trotter stood silently and looked up at Martha, engrossed in the tree, and decided that he had had quite enough of her eccentric madness and very calmly lent forward and bit the tiny, slender, tree, trunk, completely in two. Then raced off round the garden with it nearly knocking Martha too her feet.

Princess

How am I supposed to sleep when there is a poohies in my bed?

Philosophy.

After a hard nights stretching Captain Jack likes to think.

Today he is wondering what it would be like to be a giraffe.

Lifes a Bitch

Poochie hates it when the Marks make her sit in the garden and use her tongue as flypaper.

Side ways On

There are people that might consider it peculiar, bur recently Fing has become preoccupied with his profile.

Gaff the Horse in Tears

And so he lies, alone.

A salty old sea dog, stretching his limbs.

Some call it yoga, some calentetics.

The Captain calls it drunk on rum, and who are we to question?

Hi Fi

The cats and Trotter have just returned from Hi-Fi festival in the Matterley Bowl in Winchester. They left on Friday afternoon in a small van that Fing had hired for the occaision.

As it had been raining solidly for 2 weeks they took their wellington boots, for fear of getting their tiny furry paws dirty. They arrived on site and spent 2 hours putting their 6 man tent up, it was terribly complicated and at points tempers flared, with Fing lashing Trotter round the back of his head with claws outstretched on a nasty swipey foot.

This done they got out the fold away chairs, put their baskets in the tent and arranged their rucksacks, camping stove, kettle and the tea, coffee, and sugar neatly inside.

As it was Friday there was nothing too do as the festival didn't start until the next day, so they got out a crate of beer, sat in their chairs and got pissed as parrots and talked utter shite to the other campers as they arrived.

Saturday dawned murky and rainy with a hint of mist thrown in for good measure, which Faggot was awfully annoyed about because it meant he couldn't do a thing with his hair. Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face had to have a resolve as she felt rather queasy and dishevilled.

They set off round site and saw many wonderful and amazing things. They saw people in fancy dress, people who were hardly dressed, People who could hardly stand and people who were so fucked they couldn't tell you their own name if you asked them. They had a moment at one of the stalls and all purchased a second hand fake fur jackets then wandered round site for a while in an utterly aimless fashion.

They stopped at the oxygen tent and inserted tubes into their nostrils and had a combination of vodka oxygen and blast oxygen. They wern't quite sure what to expect and were dreadfully dissapointed when all they got was a bit lightheaded from the vodka fumes up their noses. They ate vodka jelly and then all of a sudden the beat from the Electric Arena got hold of Fing, and the cats had to watch as Fing danced his crazy samba moves on the dance floor.

The went to the Live stage, Gods Kitchen and then the drum and bass tent, where they all agreed the music was far too frenetic to dance to. After several hours of hard core drinking they all sidled back to the tent and collapsed with exhaustion.

Sunday dawned with a hint of sunshine and the occaisional menacing cloud. Although he didnt have a headache, Fing took some painkillers, just in case, after all, safety first! They put up the awning and sat in their chairs and made a hot drink and were suddenly surprised by a strange young man.

The strange young man had been up since five and had apparently taken 15 vera's, he told them that he was a professional Hat Judge and said it was their civic duty to find the hat stall. He pulled some really wierd faces and then informed everyone that he could also calculate how many blades of grass there were in the field if only he had the aid of an abacus. At this point he lurched off, slightly to the left, and they all agreed that what ever vera's were they certainly didn't want any if it made you froth at the mouth like a victim of rabies.

The Sunday line up was by far the best, the pets watched Kosheen, then Shapeshifters. They danced to Paul Oakenfold, The Tidy Boys and Lisa Lashes. They danced and danced until their knee's ached, and still they danced some more. Then BK came on and the place went wild.



Tired of it all they decided to walk back and suddenly found the hat stall where they remembered the strange young man and their civic duty. Faggot bought a sailors hat, Fing bought a top hat, Giggsey girl the stupid slug face bought a flat cap and Trotter decided upon a beanie.



Tutz had become completely distracted by the glow sticks on the next stall and purchased some to take home to hang on her scratchey pole, and as a result was harrangued by the strange young man who happened to pass them in passing, lurching slightly to the right.

On the way back to the tent they met the dog who owned the dodgems, and a man dressed in a scooby doo outfit. They saw lots of girls in big fluffy boots, girls with wings on and a young man who was dressed in fab fur chaps and g-string with a large black cowboy hat on.

All in all it was far too much to take in and they went to the tent and collapsed in an untidy jumble of limbs and slept like the dead until 6 this morning when a very grouchy Fing made them all get up so he could drive home and miss the bank holiday traffic.

And where was Lulu I hear you ask? Why, Lulu was at a health farm having manicures and peicures and face packs and saunas. She is a little lady after all.

A foot in the hand is worth 2 in a bush

This morning I looked up from my ironing to find Fing, sitting expectantly, one foot atop his box of Friskies. He was looking at me with such intensity that for a moment I felt like I was in a cat food commercial.

I snapped out of it and went over and poured some into a bowl then turned to find Truly Scrumptious Lulu, front left leg extended as she stretched, tapping her claws on the floor. She looked slightly confused, as if she had once been familiar with Morse code but now couldn't remember the basics.

Trotter

I am what I am
I am my own special creation
So come take a look
Give me the hook
Or the ovation
It's my world
That I want to have a little pride
My world
And it's not a place I have to hide in
Life's not worth a dam
Till I can say
I am what I am

I am what I am
I don't want praise I don't want pity
I bang my own drum
Some think it's noise I think it's pretty
And so what if I love each sparkle and each bangle
Why not see things from a different angle
Your life is a shame
Till you can shout out I am what I am

I am what I am
And what I am needs no excuses
I deal my own deck
Sometimes the aces sometimes the deuces
It's one life and there's no return and no deposit
One life so it's time to open up your closet
Life's not worth a dam till you can shout out
I am what I am

Rainy Sunday Morning

It is pouring with rain and the pets have decided not to go for their normal morning constitutional.

Fing is laying in his lovely double bed, bifocals on, reading 'Hello' magazine.

Lulu is lying on her favourite mound of blankets and old jackets, fast asleep dreaming of cream cakes and ice cream.

Tutz is on her scratchy pole, thinking about rain. Why? she wonders as she looks out the window at the torrential deluge outside.

Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face is downstairs making pancakes, Fat Boy Faggot is asleep in the bath, and Trotter?

Trotter is playing Resident Evil on his xbox and listening to the Gypsey Kings.

Dichotomy

Sometimes there is sunshine, sometimes there is rain.

Sometimes there is darkness, and sometimes there is light.

There are bad days and there are good,

Sadness then happiness, laughter and tears.

wasps and bees, sharks and dolphins.

And then we have Trotter.

Poor Trotter.

Oh, My My!

Fing watches the festival pass before him, He wears a large feathered headdress and a very small outfit comprised of nothing but sequinns. It is not until now that he has understood why so many samba dancers look so surprised.

He has come to discover that a small G - String comprised of nothing but tiny metal sequinns, chaffing between your butt cheeks, can come as a bit of a shock to anyone.

Shoe's

Contrary to popular opinion, Crocodiles do not enjoy being made into shoe's.

They actually prefer playing water polo with the hippo's, eating Wilderbeast Canape's , drinking champagne out of crystal flutes and sunning themselves on the river bank.

The Fete.

The pets had a wonderful day at the Fete.

Tutz and Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face queud for half an hour to go for a pony ride. Trotter is far too impatient to wait in a que, so he went to see the 'Splat the Rat' competition instead.

The pets had arrived just in time for a jive dancing exhibition, so Fing joined up with an old ladie and learned some new steps.

Lulu found the cream tea stall and had eaten 15 scones before any one else found her.

They looked at the home made jams and laughed at the bric a brac on the stalls. They bought themselves old battered straw hats to wear as it was very hot indeed in the sun.

After they had looked at all the stalls, Fing laid out a blanket and they sat in the sun, ate their sandwiches and drank warm pop.

It was a perfect day.

A day at the fete

Today the pets are going to Cuddesdon Village fete. Trotter is sitting impatiently at the door, waiting for Shane to come and pick him up. He doesn't know what he might find at the fete, although Fing has told him there will be a bouncy castle and a white elephant.

Trotter is confused about the white elephant and hopes he doesn't get loose and trample everyone to death by accident.

Fing has made a packed lunch, and has made everyone their favourite sandwiches. Trotter has cheese, Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face has jam and peanut butter, Tutz has tuna, Fat Boy Faggot has houmous and roasted vegetables in a panini, Lulu has bacon sausage and egg, Fing? Fing has pilchard with watercress. He has packed the sandwiches in a wicker basket, along with some bottles of pop and some crisps.

'What else will be there Fing?' asks Trotter from the doorway.

'There will small ponies with ribbons in their manes for children to ride round the field, says Fing, there will be ferrets in boxes and goats to stroke. There will be hoardes of old ladies standing at stalls will samples of home made chutney and scones. There will be piglets and lambs with big blue 'best in show' rosettes around their tiny, doomed, throats'

'Why are they doomed' asks Tutz from the kitchen top.

Luckily at that point there is a knock on the door and Shane arrives to whisk the excited pets away for their day out.

Fatty Lumpy

Truly Scrumptious Lulu and Trotter are watching a program about the clinically obese.

Lulu looks at Trotters scrawny terrier body wistfully and wonders how he manages to stay so thin. After all, he gets through half a pound of mature chedder every day.

Trotter points out that he burns off the excess fat by chasing his tail, chasing the cats, barking at doors, attacking people leaving the house, savaging the furniture and rucking up the throws and humping them, when he gets a chance.

'Lets face it Lu', he tells the chubbiest dog in the west, 'All you do is sit there and growl at people or sleep, you can't burn off the calories doing that'

Lulu looks at him through slitted eyes, one lone tooth jutting upwards from her jaw. She'll show them she thinks, has no one wondered where she's been sneaking off to on a Sunday afternoon, Church? Pah! She'll leave those crazy christians alone thank you very much.

Truly Lu has been going to gym class, taking turns on the treadmill, then the bike. Her tums and bums classes start next week. She'll show Trotter, with his stupid muscular body.

to be continued....

At the end of the day...It gets dark

Little Tiny Trotter lays fast asleep on the sofa wrapped up in his black cloak, dreaming vampire dreams.

His feet twitch as in his dreams he turns into a bat and flys into the middle distance in an erratic and demented manner.

He sleeps a sleep so deep that he doesn't hear all the cats sneaking up on him.

'HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA!' they cry as they tip a bucket of ice cold water on him.

Poor Trotter.

sunny afternoons

All the cats except Fing are lying sleeping on Martha's bed.

The sun is beating down and there is a kind of silence as the 3 furry bodies sleep, undisturbed by the people walking past chatting, or Dane playing basketball with Aaron. They don't wake up when Fly walks past talking to Roy, they don't stir when Ernie whizzes by in his electric wheelchair to feed the ducks.

There is a bee buzzing in the window and apart from a twitch of an ear it goes unnoticed. The slow, tick, tock, tick of the clock is almost non-existant in the background.

It is a sea of tranquility on that bed as the cats lie asleep in a bundle.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA!' Shouts TROTTER as he dive bombs the bed scattering the sleeping cats like a bowling ball. He stands there panting with a stupid happy smile on his face, cloak slightly askew, thinking its a job well done, before seeing the looks on the cats faces and running like fuck, off down the stairs, to hide in the sitting room.

Underworld.

Fing is sat in the Garden under his favourite bush, contemplating the words of the Masnavi.

So why then is oil water's opposite? If you should try to mix them, you will see.'

Fing sits in the shade of the wegelia bush, half asleep in the dappled sunshine, pondering the complexities of the poem, 'That they keep apart so stubbornly. Since rose and thorn belong together too, Why then is constant fighting all they do'

His reverie is harshly disturbed by Trotter hurtling out of the bedroom window in his black cape, landing in the new pond, sending a tidal wave of murky water and weed into the shrubbery.

Fing sits in the shade with a piece of pond weed draped over his head and wonders what will be the best way to kill Trotter, who clambers out of the pond, shakes off his cloak and cries, 'HA HA HA Haaaaaa!' before running into the house to chase Fat Boy Faggot up the stairs.

The Cuckoos Nest

It is Film Friday and this week Fing has chosen 'Underworld' staring Kate Beckinsdale for the other pets to watch.

They stare in horrified fascination as the Vampires and Werewolves mash each other up in a variety of equally nasty ways.

Half way through the film, Fing realizes that Trotter is missing and goes in search of the poor tormented boy. All of a sudden and all unannounced TROTTER! hurtles down the stairs like a bat out of hell, wearing a long black cloack!

'My name is TROTTER!', he announces in a wierd kind of half russian, supposed to be transylvanian accent, 'I was born in the shadow of the Carpathian mountains, and I am also known as , Dracule, Ha Ha Ha Haaaa'.

Fing watches him as he races by and wonders what he ever did to deserve the other pets?

The Depressed Farmer

In a small house in Iffley, Winnie WIn Win Win lies on the floor and sulks.

She remebers what it was like to be a pub landlord and pull pints for thirsty customers on hot sunny days. Unfortunately she was forced to retire in her prime and now is competing with Truly Lu for the position of chubbiest dog in the west.

She pats her rotund little belly and sighs.

The Olympics, but not as we know it.

Trotter and Fat Boy Faggot practice their synchronized sleeping.

Aquatic Life

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, and Tutz have spent the entire bank holiday weekend building an elaborate new pond in the back garden.

On Saturday Giggsey Girl swung a huge pick axe around like it was going out of fashion, while Tutz gave instructions from the flower bed wall. At the end of the day She had created a large, deep hole. The girls then went to the Goldfish bowl and bought some new bright and sparkly goldfish and a rather ugly little black moor for the new pond.

On Sunday the girls lined up breeze blocks and built a small wall around the edge of the pond. They also put sand and mud back in to line it and smooth it into interesting countours so the fish would have nice places to swim and explore in. They put in the liner, they cemented the wall then went inside for a glass of sweet sherry.

Today they are filing the pond, after the application of the water feature and light that will sit at the bottom of the pond to be switched on at night time to really annoy and confuse the fish. When everything is ready they will hold an official openeing of the back garden (although we couldn't have a local dignitary to cut the ribbon because there's a hose pipe ban and we'd be fined) with Varne doing the honours.

There is a tremendous air of excitement in the house, well, not from Trotter and Fing who are still fast asleep on the sofa from their May Morning.

Beltane

Trotter and Fing woke up at 5.30am in a state of excitement. They walked up into town in dawns first light and as they got nearer to the centre people began to join them. Luckily they got to Magdelen Bridge pretty early and were so allowed onto the bridge itself before the police cordoned everything off.

There is a muted chattering, all around the boys are drunk college students come back from May Balls, there are Morris Dancers holding huge standards, the Bulldogs have come out from the colleges and families with children are all around them.

At 6.30 the Magdelen Boys Choir sings and it is so beautiful that it makes all the hairs on Fings body rise until he looks like a giant puffball fish. Trotter turns to say something to him and takes a leap to the left in shock. The Music is eerily beautiful and completely incomprihensible because its all in Latin, Trotter thnks there might be a message for him in the somewhere but he cant quite grasp it.

They sing and some old boy says prayers and Trotter nudges Fing and looks at his watch. Fing nods and they force their way back through the crowds, back up the high street, they take a right down Queens Lane till they hit the Bridge of Sighs at which point they take a sharp right down a tiny alley way to the Turf Tavern.

They have a pint of Old Rosie and laugh at a very large South African who is more drunk that alive. They feel a bit tipsy on the Rosie and head back up the alley way to walk home, but no!

Under the Bridge of Sighs a large group has gathered and in the middle of everything is a Morris Dancer Stand off!



They leap and prance, some hitting sticks together, some being hit around the legs and bottoms by a man with a pigs bladder on a stick, Which Fing finds quite unsettling. Trotter is entranced by the waving of hankies and the jingle of the bells and wonders if one day, he could be a Morriser!They watch for a while then decide to cut through the crowds and weave their merry way home for a well earned nap on the sofa.