Can they?

The evening started well.

Mrs Warboise and Varne arrived first, and were shown to their seats by a very respectable Trotter, who had had his hair brushed and was sporting a bow tie.

Mr Cod turned up next on special brew and a little confused, but as this is not unusual, he was seated in the garden on the back bench, underneath the tree. Fly was the last to arrive with a crate of cider, and in due course, seated. Martha, proud mother, was closest to the stage so she could see all her darlings to their best advantage and the scene was set.

The pets had rigged up some curtains, so as a small drum roll was beaten out by Fat Boy on the drum, Lulu and Giggsey girl drew back the safety curtain and the magical backdrop of the bench surrounded by fairy lights was visible for all to see.

At this point Fing arrived dressed in a tux, baton under arm and mounted his special platform in the middle of the pond. He explained that we were there due to Tutz's wish to be a bat, and how he had re written an operatic classic.

'And with that, Ladies and gentlemen, he said to the crowd, 'i present: 'Madame, Can Cats Fly?'

And so it began, the cats voices raised in beautiful harmony to represent the arrival in Preachers Lane of a sailor, from distant shores, and his desire for a beautiful young woman, who lost her heart.

Their voices trilled and swept like swallows on the wing as the little opera unfolded, with Lulus tenor, Trotters base and Fat Boys soprano, it was enough to bring a take your breath away.

The crowd were awestruck, and a tear could be seen in Martha's eye, surreptitiously wiped away with an emotional finger.

The score progressed with the sailor leaving, and how, in her despair she withdrew into madness, and decided that she would follow him to distant shores by fashioning herself wings to follow him across the ocean.

All of a sudden, on a mellow note, Tutz swept out of the bedroom window and walked across the top of the ramshackle awning. It should have been a beautiful moment, but in her knicker wings and small grey crash helmet she resembled nothing so much as a crash test dummy in drag.

'FUCK ME!' Mr Cod exclaimed from under the tree, only to have a withering look from Fing and collective 'SShhhS' from every one else.

She stood there with tragedy across her little face, and as the other pets reached a crescendo, she leapt from the top of the ramshackle awning and took flight.

There was a gasp of collective awe as her little fat furry body was up lit by the fairy lights and the knicker wings took on a luminous glow. All of a sudden the world seemed a more wonderful place and a heartfelt feeling of joy appeared in the hearts of all the audience.

It was perhaps then tragic that the knicker wings, more a flight of fancy than a work in process, suddenly, and with no warning, abruptly folded upwards leaving Tutz unsupported. With no preamble and almost instantaneously, her tiny body plummeted into the fish pond showering everyone with water and fusing the lights.

There was a moments horrified silence before every cried out in alarm! Suddenly it was a hive of activity as Trotter got out the fish net and proceded to fish the poor drowned girl from the water.

Thankfully, Tutz only suffered from the blow to her dignity, and was comforted by Varne with a hot toddy and heated towels from the tumble dryer.

In the chaos and confusion Mr Cod, who had been forgotten in the garden and was staring morosely into the pond said 'I knew i hated fucking opera'.

Carpe dium

There is great excitement amongst the pets.

Tutz outfit has been completed and Fings new musical score in place. The pets have decided to perform tonight in the back garden and have spent the best part of the day sweeping up leaves and arranging seating. Small paw written invitations have been posted, down to Varnes, then to Mrs Warboise, Fly and Mr Cod.

It has been decided that only Tutz will be in costume and that the rest of the cats, with Lulu, will sing from the bench underneath the ramshackle awning. With this is mind the glowing fairly light orbs have been taken down and polished and the other fairy lights rearranged to frame the edge of their stage. The over hanging plants have been pruned and Fing has inspected his platform in the middle of the pond from where he will conduct.

Trotter will be showing people to the garden and their seats, dispensing popcorn, and then singing from the safety of the pig pen.

As i type the cats are practising their harmonys and Tutz is upstairs, hanging from the scratchy pole, flexing her new knicker wings and dreaming of her first staring role. She is a little concerned about the tiny crash helmet she must wear. She did protest it would ruin her artistic license, but Fat Boy Faggot has told her is absolutely necessary under health and safety laws, but is sure that it will not impede her performance.

All in all I think we are due quite a magical evening.

Pants

At first it was the Fat Boy and Tutz sat in the bedroom, devising wings from knicker elastic. But then, one by one, the other pets got drawn in.

Giggsey girl the stupid slug face had been sat polishing herself in the sunny window, but couldn't help but wonder what they were up to.

Trotter sat and watched for ages before he felt compelled to make suggestions.

Lulu was baking a cake but when she realised what was happening abandoned the cake in the rain, even though it took so long to bake it, and she may not have the recipe again.

And so Fing found every pet in the bedroom, cutting pieces from girls pants, sewing lace to old bits of stick, watching Tutz as she lived her bat dream.

He sat, and he watched, and he felt inspired.

It has been quite some time since the Preachers Lane Pet Choir has performed. Fing, the chorus master, finds himself and his feline genius rewriting an operatic classic.

Its started

After several hours of consideration in the laundry basket Tutz decided that she needs to make wings, rather than rely on her own sparce unfethered limbs.

With this is mind she spoke to Fat Boy Faggot and explained her predicament. Faggot decided that if wings made of undercrackers were required that they would, at least, be clean ones. So, with screwdriver in paw and Tutz watching from the stairs, Faggy carefully undid the metal pig money bank and secured £3 in funds.

They decided against Trotter pulling them in the trolly, so Faggy popped the unpredictable Tutz into her security harness and they set off to Primarni to purchase some new clean undercrackers.

They discovered a sale was on and came back with an assortment of underwear and then sat down in the bedroom amongst their purchases and discussed the best way to make wings.

Cheat

Today, Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west has been inspired by Delia Smith and her insane new cooking techniques.

She has decided that at the weekend she will cook a large chocolate cake made mainly from potato.

Trotter cannot quite envisage this and in his tormented mind see's a steaming jacket potato with a big nob of cadburys melting in the middle. I found him upstairs explaining the situation to Tutz.

Tutz, who had just watched a program about Livingstone's flying foxes, was hanging upside down from the scratchy pole, little legs crossed upon her chest like withered sparrow wings.

'Yes, said Trotter, 'it's chocolate cake but its also mashed potato apparently. I'm not sure but i think its got cadburys buttons in it and maybe some pilchards'

'PPrrooot!' cried Tutz 'PPPRRROOOT' and spread her sparrow wings and promptly fell off the scratchy pole into the laundry basket.

'OK, maybe I'm wrong about the mash potatoes' said Trotter, and left the room as Tuts emerged from the laundry basket wearing a sock as a hat.

She looks at the laundry she has landed in and raises one furred eyebrow, wondering if she can fashion undercrackers into wings and sits there thinking about flying in the warm air around the coast of Africa.

Hump

Kelly told me that when we go to Egypt we get to ride on a 3 legged camel.

And i believed her.

Meanwhile, somewhere near Aylesbury

Milan is still asleep.

Shock win!

Trotters is very upset that the ChiHuaHua didn't win. So much so that he's gone to bed in a sulk.

Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the West says she is releived that the ChiHuaHua didn't win. 'What does it say to the rest of the doggy world?' She said? 'It's dogs like that that cause annorexia in other breeds!'

But i gave her a cake and it soon shut her up.

Best in show

Who will it be?

I like the Samoyed but Trotter fancies the Chihuahua!

Amy

It is calm on Preachers Lane after a hectic day in which Trotter was nearly strangled by the tape measure, and in which Fillipa drove Martha, Varne, Mrs Warboise and I to Carpet Right.

We arrived at Carpet Right and showed the assistant Martha and Varnes roughly hewn sketch of the sitting room and pretended a disabled relative had drawn it. Unfortunately, Martha and Varne had measured the widest part of the room so Fillipa and I were dispatched back to Preachers Lane to measure the grate so that no mistakes come be made with the new lino.

We purchased an off cut of carpet as Martha wants the stairs carpeted so that when were all here for a chill out it wont be so hard on her ears as shes trying to sleep.

All is not well elsewhere. Trotters and I had settled down to watch Crufts when I got a text from Dean on Milan's phone. The word was not good. At Deans fathers house Milan had fallen asleep on the dining room table.

Although Dean and his collected family had managed to carry Milan to the sofa, he is out for the count.

As a result Dean is dancing to Amy Winehouse with his Dads girlfriend and wondering what on earth to do.

I did suggest sending Fing over in his Ferrari to pick them up, well, picking Dean up and attaching some rope to Milan's legs and dragging him home, only to find that Fing has in fact crashed his Ferrari, leaving it neither use nor ornament.

Oh well.

Here comes best in show!

Marmoleum

In a moment of madness, martha and Varne decided to measure the sitting room/kitchenette for our new slate effect floor covering.

They had not considered Trotters beady eye as the entire length of the metallic tape was unrolled, or the effect it would have on his damaged mind.

He struck like a viper and bit the tape, and then began to twirl, until he was wrapped in the tape like a Christmas present too early.

'TROTTERS!!!!' i could hear martha calling out in an angst ridden voice, combined with Gina given it 'Oh my Fuck!', 'TROTTER!'

They had to abandon the measuring for fear that Trotter would either strangle himself or cut his tongue off.

Guilty Pleasure

Fing doenst believe in guilty pleasure. He adores pissing openly, in public and preferably with an audience to witness his naughtiness. He likes to sit and smirk, especially if he has upset Trotters by peeing in his toy boy.

Trotter can derive no pleasure, innocent or guilty, from his toy bag and is so upset he has taken to barking at the vases in the grate.

Fat Boy Faggots guilty pleasure is cheese sauce, and as such, you need to keep the lid on the pot until you've served dinner otherwise, small whiskery indentations and lick marks can be seen on top.

Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug face likes nothing more than knawing the ends of chocolate bars and sucking the exposed milk chocolate.

Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west loves to read Jackie Collins novels, so we wont dwell on that.

Which leaves Tutz.

Tutz has only one love. Her scratchy pole which is now so hair infested and ripped that i may be forced to burn it in the back garden as a harbinger to spring and get a new one from Argos.

Welome, welcome

As recently disclosed, the world of Trotter and Fing has gathered new friens along the way.

We have recently encountered Mr Cod, and this week I would like to introduce to to Dean and Nikki.

Dean and Nikki are hairdressers by trade, but yet so much more!

Deany boy has a penchant for home grown herbs, home made tomato sauce, home made chutneys and spending time with our old friend, Milly Pav. Thankfully due to Deans intervention, Milan has been spared calamity in our bathroom as he now has a permanent and lovely place to stay.

And what can we say about the delightful Nikki? She doesn't know who Stephen Hawkins is, but thats not a catastrophe!

At one point Martha was not sure about Dean and Nikki, but now she is she often enquires, fondly, about their where abouts.

'What are those Fuckwits up to?' she enquires?

Queen Victoria

Fat Boy Faggot was not amused.

Lord of the Manor

Fing spent the best part of the afternoon lording it up on Marthas freshly made bed.

He spurned Tutz advances and refused to play, instead, striking her around the head repeatedly with a irritated paw and mealy mouthed face.

He watched Fat Boy Faggot as he clambered up towards to pillows and hit him with a determined 'I'm not sharing paw' and a withering glare.

He looked at Giggsey Girl the stupid slug faced and decided she was shiny enough to bask in his glory and let her stay.

To Rob

'Happy Birthday to you,
Squashed tomatoes and stew,
Bread and Butter in the gutter,
Happy birthday to you!'

Sings Tutz in her own small world of madness

Drag knows what i'd do without you

Just come and get your clothes back you cheapskates!'

Drag School

I was sat recovering from 'Bridge to terabithia' when a phone call came from Varnes.

Do you have a long black wig we could borrow, was the enquiry.

So i went upstairs and rifled through the assortment of frocks and velvet gloves and false breasts and found the wigs, all encased in a hat box.

What sort of wig do we need, i enquired? Apparently tomorrow is 'world something day' and Chris's niece is going as Ugly Betty, was the reply.

So i tottered down the road with an assortment of wigs, and a handful of spectacles and felt in someway appeased, and yet, excited.

The world around us has accepted the dragness of Preachers Lane. Where once only young men came to pop on frocks, now schoolchildren ask to borrow accessories and high heels.

I would like to take this time to thank Fillipa Hole, Legs up Lucy and Trai la Trash for their time and complete indifference.

If you want to keep on storing your drag queen materials here you might think about paying us a storage fee!

God, you see how they are?

Hotter than an otters pocket

'Do you know what I've got in my pocket?', asked Martha as we took Trotter and Lulu for a walk earlier.

'I don't know!', i replied with a casual indifference, 'what have you got in your pocket?'

All of a sudden and with no apparent warning, Martha produced a retractable pencil.

'It's quite an effective weapon', she said, 'it can get through to the skin, even through jeans'

I looked at her with an appraising eye and enquired how she knew this.

'Oh, you know, if people torment me too much in the office i stab them in the leg', she said.

'would you like to feel how painful it is?'

I took a step back and replied in the negative.

Tom Brownes Schooldays

I awoke to the sound of Martha holding a conversation with whom I assumed to be Varne.

I got up only to discover that it was in fact Fing, not Varne who was talking to Martha, in an attempt to be let out into the garden.

'He can't go out', she explained, 'there are cats who have been out all night outside'. Fing looked at me with anger in his eyes and went off and pissed in Trotters toy bag to make himself feel better.

'Its for his own good', she said, and I recalled that Martha used to have a teacher who used to say exactly the same thing to her when she was a girl. Miss Herring, aka 'Cods eye' used to regularly cane Martha for her naughtiness, whilst adding 'I'm doing this for your own good'.

I asked Martha if it had done any good, and she replied no. So i enquired if the same principle applied to Fing.

'Its entirely different', she exclaimed! 'Its not like I'm about to cane his tiny paws is it?'

We then discussed Martha's schooldays and her different teachers at her secondary modern school.

There was delightful Mrs Money who taught needlework and writing. Unfortunately Martha showed no aptitude for needlework and was allowed to do gardening instead. This was until the day that Martha decided to get on the rotavator and drove into the gate by accident, cutting her leg open in the process.

There was perverted Mr Harris, who taught geography and took the hapless students on a field trip to Shropshire in an attempt to teach them cartography. They dropped the students off in the hills, only to find Marthas team lost. She got a caning for getting lost.

Mr McCabe the art teacher who wouldn't let the boys and girls talk to each other despite it being a mixed school.

Martha's belief of predestination stemmed from Mr Mangle, who would make the children meditate and close their eyes, all so that he could pick his nose in private.

And of course, the redoubtable Mrs Herring, who had thin vicious lips that were always pained a bright red, with short mannish hair and weak watery eyes.

I think my favourite reminiscence of the morning was about Georgina, who arrived at the school epileptic, but unannounced, so when she took her first fit in the dinner queue the other children ran screaming into the playground. One day she took a fit in Mrs Herrings class, and sat thrashing at her desk, only to have Mrs Herring call out 'Pull yourself together Georgina and pay attention!'

a SONG FOR jOHN

and she was out of tune god damn it!

Just what does John Barrowman know?

(Dr Who and Torchwood i'll give him that, but shite songs for europe? SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP JOHN, THIS IS EUROPE, NOT AMERICA!)

just a thought

Michelle whats her name looked like an oven basted chicken gone wrong

Fing voted for

I dont know if its right for eurovision but

YAY!!!!! ANDY ABRAHAM ROCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Smack your bitch up

Since the world moved on and i dropped my last computer, smashing the motherboard, new characters have entered the world of Trotter and Fing.

One of these is the infamous Mr Cod, Varnes older brother.

Mr Cod is best know for trying out 'new raises', he works for the pikeys and likes to drink special brew at 8am in the morning.

He is known as Mr Cod because he closely resembles the cod in a multivitamin advert who winks in a lascivious manner to the viewing public.

Mr Cod came round one day in a drunken fashion and proceeded to torment Lulu (the chubbiest dog in the west), we tried to warn him, but to no avail.

He was feeling the heat of a hot summers evening and went to the sink and doused his head in cold water, smoothing his hair back.

He returned to the sofa and the disagreeable Lulu, and proceeded to torment her.

We warned him again!

Watch out! we cried, she still has 2 teeth!

He wouldn't listen, he wouldn't be told. She bit him, fair and square on the nose. Pierced it in fact.

He looked up in complete surprise, blood streaming down his face, as his previously damped hair stood up in a mohican.

It has to be said that for a moment we thought the Prodigy had made a surprise appearance as martha cried ' Oh! its the fire starter!'

Flea today, gone tomorrow

Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west is a very unhappy dog.

Today is flea day, in which we dispense small doses of poison to the back of the pets necks in the name of progress.

As Trotter was flea-ed earlier in the month by accident Lulu is suffering by herself. She hates the poison on the back of her neck and as I type she is feverishly rubbing her chubby body on the throw trying to get rid of the stuff.

Trotter is being pursued around the kitchen by Varne who has a pet wipe (for dogs who do not enjoy being bathed) in her right hand and a piece of ham in her left. Kind of like a 'good cop, bad cop' scenario. Trotter can only focus on the wipe and is skirting the outside of the room like a wary lion in a circus ring. She has managed to wipe the right side of his little scruffy body and as a result he is shiny on one side.

The cats are asleep upstairs, completely unaware of the wipe/ poison problem downstairs.

Sick

Oh dear, every one is poorly.

Each of us, to a man.

I have been dispensing cough syrup to Lulu and Tutz, who are sharing a duvet in Martha and I's shared coat cupboard.

Fat boy Faggot has been terribly sick in the hall.

Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug Face is huddled on a cushion which lays on the top of the sofa and rests against the wall, from which she can gain the most benefit from the rediator.

Fing is laying on his cushion, the one next to mine, in bed and is too grumpy to speak and instead is coughing in an irritated fashion as if to illustrate a point.

Trotter won't be spoken to and instead is waiting for Martha to come home, a dejected figure at the bottom of the stairs.

I just don't know what to do with myself. I've got no one to speak to, well unless one of them calls out for a lemsip or cough syrup or a hot toddy, I may as well not be here.

I'm off back to bed to watch old episodes of Quincy and Lovjoy.

Twig

Of course somethings never change.

Trotters madness is one of those things.

The form of the madness can change in itself however adding new dimension to the insanity you experience.

As such, the world moves on.

Martha has become obsessed the channel 11's 'The Dog Whisperer' celebrating the quiet work of Los Angeles Ceasar Milan, the worlds foremost dog psychologist. As such we watch every episode, every evening as soon as Martha returns from Varnes.

I think that Martha hopes that we can glean some hint, or method, in which to subdue Trotters madness.

It has is some small way helped.

Through Ceasars tutelage we have stopped Trotter barking at you when you make sandwiches. In turn, he no longer barks at you when you eat pizza.

It hasn't stopped him barking at the broom however, and Trotters hatred of the mop bucket lays unabated.

It is said that from small acorns tall oaks grow.

I think with luck and perseverance we may end up with an unkempt bonsai.

I just can't bear it

I am sure I am not alone in reading of the brave adventures of a Romanian boy called Petre and his 3 legged dog Cotanogu.

The boy, his mother and the dog were collecting fire wood in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains when a brown bear emerged from the shrubbery and charged the small group, before grasping the mother around the neck.

At this point the redoubtable Petre raced towards the bear brandishing a piece of the aforementioned firewood shouting at the top of his 7 year old voice, closely followed by Cotanogu, barking with menaces.

The startled bear abandoned his choice of supper and shambled post haste back into the shadows of the Carpathian Mountains, leaving Mrs Petre only slightly mangled.

Hurrah for 7 year old and small brown terriers with 3 legs! Hurrah! Hurrah!

(without wishing to belittle their brave adventure, I can only assume that the bear was old, and a bit arthritic, and presumably devoid of teeth, because normally if a brown bear grabs you round the neck your head becomes detached and rolls down the slopes of the Carpathian Mountains, utterly mangled)

Ware the beast

So much water has passed under the bridge that i scarcely know where, or how, to begin. So many adventures and mishaps, dance competitions and bake-offs, the world is truly my oyster.

I think I shall start with a tale of the erstwhile Filipa Hole, who had popped round to mine to get ready for her part time job at the Brewery Gate.

I had cooked a spot of supper, and we sat and drank some tea, before Filipa ventured upstairs to pop on her uniform.

I was utilizing the facilities when suddenly an anguished cry came from my bedroom,

'Honey! I've had a hideous accident!'

I raced into the room to find Filipa gripping onto the tallboy with one leg raised in an unwitting parody of a Morcombe and Wise sketch.

It would appear that wile Filipa was donning her apparel Trotter had casually pottered into the room and done a discreet poo on the floor. Tragically the unsuspecting Filipa took a step backwards and planted her foot smack bang in the middle of Trotters fragrant offering.

Needless to say it was a calamity of the highest nature and resulted in some very unladylike retching in the lavatory.

Welcome to the World of Trottrandfing

It is some times said that all good things come to those who wait. It is also said that revenge is a dish best served cold.

Make of that what you will.

Trotterandfing would like to announce a commencement in services otherwise rescinded through lack of technological advancements.

It's never made sense.

Welcome home.

Humbug

Fing has been taking his new role as the Cat of Christmas Past very seriously indeed.

He likes to sit next to my jewellery box and rattle the chains all night.

Although this is not actually a haunting experience, its is quite the most annoying thing I have ever had to experiemce, and find myself removing anything than can be rattled or scraped from the top of the dresser and out of his way.

Wretched Boy with his malignant mind.

Raindrops

Oh Goodness, Trotter loves the rain.

He loves the cold and the damp and the feel of the raindrops as they splash on his little upturned furry face.

He loves to try and catch the raindrops and grumbles to himself as he splashes through puddles.

If it is a monsoon type deluge the excitement is too much and he barks and barks and gibbers and leaps at the rain, jaws working in overtime snapping away.

He likes to push his way through bushes to make himself more wet, he likes to bark at the ducks because he envys their watery riverside homes.

He does not care that everyone else does not like the rain, he says 'Fie!', to them all as he feels the rain hit his back and his paws splash through the wetness of the day.

Chubster

Tutz has been experiencing problems eating since the new kitchen refurbishment and its prolonged disasters, and so I have taken to feeding her in the safety of the bedroom, as near to the scratchy pole as possible.

(I originally put the bowl of food on top of the dresser, forgetting abvout Fing and his scrapy paw problem, and returned home to find the entire lot mulched into the trouser drawer, and my jeans all crusty with cat food)

So, As you are aware, Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, has been suffering from an upset stomach. Not only this she has been off her food, yet mysteriously getting larger and larger and larger. We couldnt work out why.

How thick were we?

I went upstairs 2 days ago to find Lulus horrible little fat body, forced underneath the bed, consuming Tutz's dinner! All I could see were her little black paws, rather similar to the wicked witches feet after shes been cruched by the house.

I tried to remove her and had my right foot savaged as a thank you.

We are having to lock her into the sitting room as she has become so fat that if she trys to scratch her ear she rolls over backwards and struggles to get back up again.

Trotter's new thing

A lot has transpired since my last missive.

Trotter has taken to humping things.

He likes to hump his bowl, and he likes to hump my shoes. He is particulalrly fond of humping the throws because they are quiye large and it gives him something to mount.

Martha says that he is a dirty dog and tells him to stop, but I let him carry himself on, because at least when he is humping he's not barking.

Salutations!!!!!

It has been a long time Dear Hearts!

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since our last entry - this is not even figuratively speaking! Oxford has been consumed by floods, luckily the residents of Preachers Lane were not affected by the rising waters of the Thames, apart from poor Trotter who drank some flood water in a puddle and ended up with a very upset tummy indeed.

Trotter was even more upset by his visit to the vets, even though it was Cameron Forbes who examined him. Mr Forbes, (otherwise know as Mr Cambell Gore) loves Trotter and is always upset by Trotters fevered reaction to him.

This time was no exception, as Trotter leapt like a bucking bronco on the examination table, leaving me and Mr Forbes covered in hair, although thankfully none of Trotters skanky dreadlocks snapped off because it would have been awful if we had found ourselves wearing them like moustaches.

Mr Forbes could find nothing apparently wrong with our boy but erred on the side of caution and gave him antibiotics, just in case. We have been feeding these to our boy disguised in cheese to take the edge off them.

Lulu was poorley the week before that, although it was not flood water that caused the damage. Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west was infact so poorly that she was pushing her food bowl away with her nose and staring at you in an accusatory fashion for daring to bring it near her when she was so ill. As a result the chubster has lost quite a considerable amount of weight and now has a waist, if you look at her in a good light and at the right angle.

Explain

A quick note to apologise for the lack of input recently, I have left my job and dropped my laptop on the floor, so do not have internet access anywhere.

As soon as I do, tales regarding your favourite pets in the whole wide world with recommence!

*buy Vanity Fair this month, theres a fabulous section on really expensive jewellery.

Medicine

It is a well known fact that the Chinese use animal parts in their traditional medicine.

It is not a well know fact that Crocodiles use human parts for their traditional medicines.

This human hand will help the Crocodile combat gout and scrofula, give him energy, a sense of enormous well being and will make him more virile.



*please do not try this at home. Cannibalism is illegal, and you need a wild animal license for crocodiles.

Kanga who?

It is a well known fact that Kangaroo's are professional boxers and live in Australia.

They can bounce very well, give birth to microscopic grubs and have a penchant for packed lunches.

It is not a well known fact that some Kangaroo's have to live in detention centres, like this one, on tiny Islands of the Coast of Australia.

These are the Kangaroo's who have been found convicted of drink driving, refusing to call women 'Sheila' whilst insinuating everyone else is a flaming Galah, and for throwing too many shrimp on the barby.

It is in these hostile and unwelcoming detention centre's that they are weaned off their fosters addiction, taught the correct use of colloquialisms and how to drive safely while under the influence of barbeque food.

Run's

Trotter loves the new kitchen, as it gives him extra space in which to race up and down in a pointless happy fashion, especially when he has had one of his poo's upstairs, as it gives him a bit more of a run up to the coffee table.

Hi Honey, I'm Home!

Its been a long time my friends, much has happened in between times.


My last entry concerned Marthas confusion and my concussion, thankfully I am over the concussion which left me house bound for a week. Unfortunately Martha is still very confused.

I have been to Blackpool Pride.

Fing has been to the Pan-Pacific dance competition in Australia where he made the heats but was shimmied out of the competition by a Brazilian with liquid hips, a mullet and a lovely waxed moustache. Fing watched from the side lines and decided next year would be his year and wondered where to get wax for moustaches.

Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug Face and Tutz entered the Cheese Rolling competition at Coopers Hill in Gloustershire. having four legs they had the advantage over all the stupid bipeds who cartwheeled their way to the bottom of the hill.

Lulu has been flying her kite. Know that there is a gate in the back garden she has found it easier to get to the Green Hill and stand on top to watch the beautiful kite flutter in the wind.

Fat Boy Faggot has been writing to his pen pals, drinking champagne and leading his usual life of idolatry and hedonism.

And Trotter? Trotter has been alternating between exceptionally good and exceptionally bad, almost as if his brain is trying to make a decision, finally, which way to go. He has been exceptionally good as Ali and Fly ripped out the kitchen and installed all the new units, he laid on the sofa and didn't bark or moan.

However, the price for all this goodness all day long is a build up of badness that hasn't had time to escape in the day.

Trotter has escaped 3 times, the first was on Friday when I was wearing a dress and high heels that hadn't been designed for chasing small shabby dogs around council estates. The following 2 occasions were on Saturday and caused such mayhem around the estate that a new child gate was purchased and firmly fixed to the wall.

Trotter is barking more in the mornings, almost as a prelude to his goodness throughout the day. Now that the house is open plan the sound reverberates around the house like machine gun fire and is very distressing at ten to 7 in the morning.

Trotter has taking to Shoe-mining in my bedroom and a large collection of my shoes are in the potpourri as a safety measure.

Because Trotter is being so completely naughty at night he sleeps like a little angel, and when I get up in the morning he is so fast asleep that the little bugger doesn't even wake up until I have returned from the bath. He lifts his little whiskery head and stretches his wretched little body and looks so cute with his sleepy face that you remember why its all worth while.

Ouchy

It has been a trying week.

First of all I get a verbal warning for not reaching my core responsibilities, then to add insult to injury, Ashley, Kelly and Myself end up in some ridiculous brawl and end up all covered in cuts and bruises.

It wasn't till yesterday that I discovered that I have concussion and am, under no circumstances, allowed on any rollercoasters.

The pets have been absolute angels and have rallied round to help.

Lulu has acted as a hot water bottle and has kept me warm and snug. Trotter has moderated his barking so the reverberations do not rattle around my head like shotgun fire. Giggsey Girl the stupid Slug Face has taken to making vast quantities of tea and Fing has been answering the door and replying to the post. Fat Boy Faggot has been doing the cleaning.

Unfortunately, Martha has some new high blood pressure tablets, one of the side effects of which are confusion.

I'm concussed, Marthas confused.

Can you find it in your hearts to pray for us?

One day in May

THE WEEKEND IS HERE!

Trotters and Fing are planning a trip to the coast in Fings Ferrari, now that the new dog ramp that supports canines of up to 20 stone has arrived, the world is their oyster. Fing has purchased a lovely picnic hamper and has filled it full with all of their favourite things.

There is mineral water or Lauren Perrier to drink. There is cubed cheese and sliced chicken to eat. There is Old Cat Iams and Young Adventurous Dog Iams to suck on during the journey down. As a treat for the beach there is is caviar with pickled eggs and a packet of Revels for dessert.

Trotter and Fing know how to live in style.

Meanwhile, Tutz will be cleaning her scratchy pole whilst listening to Amy Winehouse.

Martha will be pottering around in her own world of madness.

Varne will go to bed hoping that she is not woken up by men in drag in the early hours of the morning.

Lulu is posing in front of the mirror upstairs as she has just got back from the poodle parlour and has such a lovely new haircut that she is transfixed by the sight of her shapely little figure in the mirror. The excess hair made her look 3 stone heavier she decides.

Fat Boy Faggot is preparing for a trip to the Vauxhall Tavern and a brief sojourn in Chariots, perhaps, if the fancy takes him.

And Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug face? She hasn't decided what she wants to do this weekend, and may purchase a bottle of Silver Merrydown, just for old times sake.

Little Warrior

George 1999 - 2007


As you are aware, last week, George, a Jack Russell from New Zealand selflessly gave up his own life to save the lives of 5 children he had been playing with.

The SPCK has postumously awarded the little fellow a bravery medal, and US Vietnam veteran Jerrell Hudman was so moved by the story he decided to forward his own Purple Heart to honour the little dogs bravery.

The SPCA medal is usually awarded to people for their bravery in defending animals.

"George was a very brave little dog who almost certainly prevented severe injury, if not death, to at least one of the children,'' SPCA chief executive Robyn Kippenberger said.

"It's truly tragic that he paid with his own life for his instinctive act of courage.''

Hudman, 58, of Austin, Texas was a US Marine for 30 years and said he decided to send his Purple Heart to George's owner Alan Gay after reading the news on the Internet because the dog was "a little warrior''.

The Purple Heart is awarded to those killed or injured fighting for the US military.

'He saved my life'

*Thanks to the Daily Telegraph for pictures

Once upon a Madness

I suppose you all wonder how the Fancy Dress Party went?

Its not easy though, is it?

We got ready at Mine, Fillipa a vision in pink satin and Gru looking like a crack-whore in turquoise. We left mine to be subject to a flurry of homophobic abuse from some neanderthal teenagers with a combined IQ of a peanut, who then proceeded to follow us round to the pub in a threatening manner.

Luckily, have high heels can travel, even in a slightly lopsy manner, and we teetered all the way to the pub without mishap.

It was the usual sort of Fancy Dress Party, with Fillipa pulling up her satin tights in the middle of the pub without a shred of decorum, while Gru sat there with his legs wide open like a Labourer in the wrong place at the wrong time, and in a dress by accident.

We all got drunk and then a large group of us weaved our way to the Coven.

It was shortly afterwards that 2 drunks arrived at the pub and tried to make off with the charity money on the door.

Thankfully Robin Hood and Maid Marion and an assortment of dwarves were there to pin one to the ground, while Tweedle Dum, Puss in Boots, Prince Charming, Hermes, Alice and Wonderland, The Queen of Hearts and the White Rabbit stood round and watched. One of the thieves escaped over the balcony in the style of Spiderman, he obviously didn't realise that the Super hero's party is in June.

Tranmission Vamp

I hae to apologise for the lack of tranmission. I have been subject to a brutal and completely unnecessary disciplinary at work at the hands of my evil and twisted manager, and have spent days formulating my defence.

Full story and pics later.

Once Upon a Time

The day has arrived.

I have been out and purchased a new basket to go with my lovely red velvet cloak.

Gruey was so overcome with excitement at the thought of going out in drag that he couldn't stop himself from bouncing up and down on the bed, despite poor Wayne trying to have a lie in.

I have to go to Primark for pink tights to go with Filipa's fuschia silk dress, and boots for glitter spray for our hair.

Ezra has been out to the shops and purchased an outfit, but refuses to divulge its kind.

Full story and pics later!

Hero

I read a story earlier that bought a lump to my throat, and which had already reduced Lulu to tears.

This week in New Zealand a tiny dog faced huge odds to protect 5 children that were not even his own.

George, a tiny jack Russel, met some of his neighbours children on the way home from the sweet shop and was playing with them when suddenly, 2 pit bull terriers rounded the corner.

The pit bulls were out for blood, and barking and snarling ran towards the children

George knew what he had to do.

At under a foot high and with a heart condition, the tiny dog, with that damaged heart that was still bigger than a lion's, raced towards the pit bulls. He ran at them and charged in with his small compact terrier body.

So, of course, the pit bulls turned their attention to the wonderful, heroic little creature, and the children ran away to safety.

George was still alive when they found him, but had been so badly mauled that he could not be repaired, and was put to sleep.

I don't know if dog's go to heaven, but if they do George will be sat on a golden cushion, where he will never want for anything, ever again. He will never again feel the wind on his back, or the sun on his face, but one day he will be reunited with the children whose lives he saved, and with everyone who ever loved him.

Rest in peace wee man.

If

In the 1940's there were only 40 Siberian Tigers left in the wild.

With a hunting ban put in place and help from conservation societies, within 60 years the population has risen to 600.

If we put our minds to it we could still have orangutans in 20 years time, we could save the mountain gorrillas from the mists, we could stop global warming so that polar bears and penguins had lovely freezing places to be.

If we really wanted to, we could.

Wings of a duck

The Street Ducks had learnt their lesson from yesterdays madness and had roosted high on the embankment where Truly Scrumptious Lulu's fat little body couldn't get them.

This one watched me with a beady duck eye while his friends practised their line dancing routines.

Dawn of the Duck

This morning, on our walk, Truly Scumptious Lulu, Trotter and Myself were approached by some street ducks.

The Street Ducks were all sitting in the shade of the cherry trees by the bank and were all quacking softly to themselves in the shade as a light mist rose off the river into the hazy morning sunshine.

Lulu was sniffing the grass and Trotters was just standing there so I stood to take the air and the pretty view, when all of a sudden a little brown female made a bee line for us, presuming we had food.

We all stood there for a moment, when all of a sudden and with no warning, Lulu slipped her lead and ran amongst the sleeping ducks and scattered them to the four winds, while Trotters barked and tugged on his lead.

Everytime I got near her she would suddenly hair off in a different direction, until all the street ducks had taken to the tree's and I was bright red in the face.

I am of the firm opinion that you should always let sleeping ducks lie but all Lulu can see is crispy fried duck in a lovely pancake with hoisin sauce. If you are Duck Boy however you can only find ducks on the continent.

May Day

Once again it is glorious May Morning, when those with very little common sense like to toss themselves off Magdelen Bridge into the shallow waters of the river in order to break limbs and maim themselves.

This customary tossing is watched by a crowd of bloodthirsty maniacs who like to encourage the tossers by cheering in an exuberant fashion hoping to catch sight of a broken ankle, bloodied nose or fractured skull when the tossers are ferried back up the bank up by emergency services.

This year then, both the tossers and the braying mob would have been sorely disappointed as the police closed off the bridge and refused to join in with the May Day festivities.

Common sense prevailed and the crowd, looking for blood and carrying a Wickerman, burning brands, and an assortment of pitchforks, went on a witch hunt instead.

Meanwhile, normal people danced around hitting each other over the heads with inflated pigs bladders on sticks, bells round their toes and waving hankies in the air. Other normal people could be seen dressed as tree's, or with large horns attached to their head, and many more wore large hats covered in spring flowers.

Thankfully there was a large proportion of the extremely drunk who evened out the odds a little, and a good time was had by all.

What becomes of the totally wankered?

The weekend passed in a drunken haze.

Milly Pav arrived at 1 and everything disintegrated shortly after.

We sat in the Brewery Gate and drank like prohibition was going to be enforced around mid afternoon.

We drank pints and shooters for some time before deciding that we should go home and compose ourselves.

Trotter was very pleased to see us, inebriated as we were, and started to leap around the table and bark at the chair. Lulu eyed us a bit nervously from the sofa and growled, just in case we needed warning (It wasn't until a drunk Mr Cod arrived much later that her full wrath was unleashed. The 'full wrath' package has resulted in Lulu biting through Mr Cod's nose before now. This is not bad for a small dog with only one tooth)

We ordered pizza as we were ravenous. It arrived with the customary Garlic and Herb dip which proved difficult to open, so Milan took the bull by the horns and tried to open it with his teeth resulting in the pot spilling down his top. It looked like a seagull had perhaps evacuated its bowels on the unfortunate Pav. Not fazed by the dip Milan took off the soiled garment and proceeded to dance around the sitting room topless in the style of a disabled, drunken, pole dancer on acid. This lurid and erratic dancing was warmly received by the cats who always appreciate any kind of floor show, but not so by Marth, who had escaped into the garden to get away from it all.

Milan, never one for niceties, decided that he would go and dance outside in the garden and proceeded to cavort madly around the fishpond. In the distance I heard some one shout 'Put a shirt on you daft cunt!', but Milan was too far gone to care.

It wasn't until I'd had a bath and tried on a few outfits and several pairs of shoes, and was trying to apply makeup with an errant, drunk hand, and had eyeliner everywhere but my eyes and mascara in my hair that Milan looked at me and slurred, 'La. Do you think we might be too drunk to go back out again?'. As I couldn't actually stand up I decided that Mil had a point and so decided to stay in.

Milan, however, got a phone call and went to the Jolly, and god alone knows what happened from there.

If

It is Friday, once again, and nothing much of note has happened on Preachers lane.

Thelma is so excited about the sunny weather we have had of late that she has taken to dancing on the pavement outside her house in a wildly erractic manner, accosting people as they pass to share her sunny love. This has resulted in most of the neighbours peering anxioulsy from behind their curtains to see if she is there before they rush out to do a bit of shopping.

The new familiy has moved in next door and have made their presence known by swearing, loudly and repeatedly, at each other. This is the adults of course, the children have made their presence known by screaming and running amok in the garden, upsetting Martha by throwing balls into the pond and just being generally obnoxious.

We have yet to see how they will tackle with Trotter and Fing and their escapades, will they appreciate Trotters barking and dislike of potted plants? Will they come to understand Fing and his horrid haughty nature, and the fact that given an inch, he can piss a mile?

Will they mind if Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face pops over the fence to have a poo in their flowerbed, as she did that one time when the Sumo family lived next door. (It might not have been so bad but it was a hot summers day and they were all sitting outside having a barbi as she decided to evacuate her bowels in their petunia's. I had to clamber over the fence with a bit of kitchen roll in hand apologising, 'i'm so terribly sorry' I said as they sat there aghast, chicken legs in hands)

Will they mind when Lulu flys her kite, or Fat Boy Faggot comes home late at night from a Sauna, in through the back door, if you will. Will they be irritated by the madness of Tutz and her intense yellow eyes as she peers at them from the upstairs window making her strange 'PPPrrrooooTTTt'ing noises in a demented fashion?

All this remains to be seen.

Trotwear and Fing

I finally told Little about his cap on Tuesday.

I admitted that Trotter had redesigned the beloved cap into something rather unmanageable and unwearable (trotwear does not have to make sense)

I grovelled by text as I knew how much the cap meant to Little, to tell him that I was truly sorry, that I had put the cap up high, in safety, and could only presume that one of the cats must of been having a bad day, found the cap and tossed it to the floor in irritation.

And so I apologised until Little called down and said that perhaps he should not have left his most favourite item of clothing of all time at my house where it was at risk. Perhaps he should have come to pick it up. All things told, he said, he could always buy another.

And so I said sorry, once again, and went to bed.

I awoke the next morning to find a pile of my favourite boots where they should not have been. All out of their boxes in a mangled heap by the bookshelf. At first I thought that they may have fallen from the side, but as I drew near, the awful truth emerged.

Fing had pissed on my boots.

In the pile were the most expensive pair of boots I have ever purchased, the second most expensive, and the most comfortable pair I have ever owned. I raced to the pile of boots and started to sniff them experimentally in abject horror. Please don't let it be the £200 Diesels I whispered to myself as I sniffed then from top to bottom. Then the Fly's, which also seemed to have been spared, until I reached my comfy, lovely, brown suede boots, that didn't need to be sniffed as the pee was still dripping off them as I picked them up.

Thank heaven for small mercy's I thought and put them in the washing machine in an experimental attempt to save them from the bin. You can, after all, pop your trainers in there if Fings had a go at them, so what difference suede I wondered?

Well, they are kind of firmer, and less soft than they once were, but I think they are still wearable, just. At least they don't smell of cat pee, and Fing has not won, not this day.

The Noisy Dogs Home

Trotter is stood underneath the stairs, peeping out occaisionally at the front door.

He is hiding because Fing has told him that the Noisy Dog Inspector is on Preachers Lane.

The Noisy Dog Inspector, he has told Trotter, waits patiently, listening, until he can hear a noisy dog, and then he comes and swoops you away to a dogs home in the middle of Dartmoor where you are forced to live in a small sound proof box.

In the Noisy Dogs home, no one can hear you bark.

Trotter, all in all, enjoys the sound of his own bark, and does not wish to be in a sound proof box miles away from home, so is prudently saving his barks for later, when Martha and Lara will be at home to plead his case should the inspector arrive after dark. What hope has one small shabby dog got on his own against a man with a large net he thinks as he stands there, occaisionally peeking round the corner at the front door.

'woof' he says very quietly, to himself, in a moment of defiance, 'woof'.

Tutz

Tutz hates it when you take photos all close up because it makes here eyes go all peculiar.

The Pidgeon

This is the pidgeon that was rescued from the Chimney at the Brewery Gate last week.

We apologise for the delay in posting the photo.

Weekend

It was a quiet weekend. No one had hangovers, no one was hanging out their arses. Martha went gardening, I tidied up the cupboard under the sink, which in itself was no mean feat, as it has its own bizarre half life and inhabitants.

I scrubbed and polished, boxed up jam jars that had lids and recycled those that didn't. I bleached and disenfected where disenfecting was due.

Not only this but I shopped. I bought food for the week, and food for the pets, I bought cream for my face and cheap jewellery in the Asian shop that is in a perpetual state of 'closing down'.

Filipa was working at the Gate along with a new, strange, drag queen, who was walking like John Wayne in his high heels.

So, a quiet weekend all told.

Death by Ice

We at Trotterandfing hear that there are hundreds of boats containing seal hunters trapped in pack ice off the coast of Canada, where they have become trapped after killing thousands of baby seals for this years quota.

The coastguard is desperately trying to reach them as they are running out of fuel and food.

Perhaps it would be more merciful to club them round the back of the head until they are dead than let them freeze or starve to death?

Birds of a feather

Yesterday Lulu rescued a pigeon from the flu, and this morning I was attacked by a street duck.

On Sunday I was working at the gate when we heard a frantic screechy and scrabbly noise coming from the chimney flue. We edged over there nervously and I started to open the door when Lulu said 'But what if its a rat?', at which point we both backed off and got a man from the beer garden to tackle it instead.

We called up pest control who told us it would be a pigeon, probably a baby one, that had fallen down the chimney by accident. Unfortunately, pest control were dead busy and couldn't come round, so yesterday Lulu and Alex dismantled the fire, sawed off the bottom of the chimney and rescued the stupid pigeon who promptly flew off to sit back on top of the chimney.

This morning I was walking across the car park when an agitated woman clutching her bag to her chest raced past me, 'Quick', she cried, 'It might get us!'

I turned to see an irate street duck hurtling across the Duke of York car park with ill intent in its small beady duck eyes, so I too turned and ran. It chased us across the road and nearly all the way to the Castle, before hissing and walking into a bush. Me and the woman paused for breath, and agreed how unusual that it was to be chased by a duck at half 7, then went our separate ways.

It was as I walked down Rapists Alley that i heard a rustle and a 'quack, quack, quack' from the wall above me. I looked up only to find a street duck had made her nest on top of a brick wall, all covered in Ivy and was watching me with her beady duck eye through the foliage.

What hope is there for the birds of Oxford?

(I apologise for the lack of photo's. Lulu is sending me a picture of the pigeon but I didn't dare stop to take a picture of the angry duck in case she pecked my nose off and the nesting, insane, Ivy duck, was too high up to be photographed)

Duckling Doom

In a harsh and unfriendly world, baby street ducks forage for scraps in a college quod.

Denied an aquatic life, some of them will develop callouses on their delicate webbed feet, some will be forced into a life of petty crime, others will turn to drugs and drink and some may become Big Issue vendors.

It doesn't have to be like this.

Petition the governemnt not to fill Radley Lakes with choking ash from Didcot Power Station, leave the lakes there for all forms of aquatic life, for the swans and the geese, the frogs and the toads, water rats and newts. For Herons, and fish, and most of all, for Street Ducks.

Ducks need water like we need air.

The place the world forgot

It is a lovely spring day. The children on the estate are entertaining themselves with a spot of random vandalising, as is their wont, while the pets find other things to occupy their time.

Fing is outside washing his beloved Ferrari, he is talking to Swetty Netty, who is hanging over her fence watching the vandalising children in the middle distance. They are discussing the time when children had been bought up to be seen and not heard, not let loose upon the world as mindless hooligans with wanton destruction on their minds, well, unless you were the son of a football hooligan, then wanton destruction was probably the only thing on your mind.

So Netty chats as Fing lovingly buffs his beautiful shiny car.

Meanwhile, on the basket ball court, Tutz is hanging out and chatting to the kids as they leap around pretending to be in South Central LA. Tutz cannot determine if she would like to be a blood or a cripple, as neither option seems entirely attractive. She hopes she will not have to kill anyone to be forced to join a gang as she fears she may shoot herself be accident. And so she sits in the sun on top of the railings and watches as the boys leap around with their balls.

Trotter and Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug face are in the front garden, where there are no potted plants to instigate Trotters appetite for destruction. They are customising a shopping trolley into a go kart with go faster stripes, a comfy covered seating area, with a roof top restaurant. They can be seen having a tug of war with a tape measure and squabbling over switches of material for the seats. All they have managed to achieve so far is the go faster stripes, and that is only because Trotter found the tin of paint by accident and shook it in a frenzy, shaking red paint all over the trolley and only narrowly avoiding the Giggs, who leapt out of the way like a gazelle into the relative safety of next doors dustbin.

Truly Scrumptious Lulu and Fat Boy Faggot are in the garden sunning themselves. They are drinking white wine and discussing Jordan's pregnancy whilst watching the children through the fence. The vandalising children are currently dismantling a brick wall and throwing the bricks at each other, Fag and Lulu watch them and agree that in an ideal world an accident would happen, its not like any one would really miss the children, is it?

Fat Boy Faggot can remember when the sumo child from next door got hit in the face with a cricket bat, and how we all laughed quietly from behind the curtains. Lulu reminisces about the time that the mad woman upstairs had lost it and was throwing potatoes at the children, then started throwing over her furniture as well until 6 policemen had wrestled her into a riot van.

'Mind you' says Faggy, 'we haven't had a good Jumper for a while have we?', they discuss the last time someone had threatened to throw themselves off the bridge and how everyone got out blankets and sat on the rivers edge having picnics watching the police trying to encourage him back to the relative safety of the housing estate. 'How we loved to shout 'JUMP!' occasionally, just for a laugh' they smile to themselves and laugh, as a large brick sails through the air on the other side of the fence, landing with a thud in Thelma's garden.

The sun is out, spring is in the air.

Preachers Lane, enter at own risk.

White cats don't wear plaid.

'Fing?', asks Trotter, 'Did you see in the paper yesterday about the white cat in Wolverhampton that, over the course of the last 3 months, has started getting on the bus and travelling 2 stops before getting off at the fish and chip shop?'

Fing looks up from his broderie anglais and sniffs, disdainfully.

'public transport?', he spits, 'only low life scum use public transport', he then gets up, pulls on his leather driving gloves and goes for a spin in his ferrari, just to prove a point.

Our Sympathy to

Street Ducks have returned to the Streets of Oxford.

This lonely fellow was photographed outside my house on his way to Sainsbury's for a pint of milk.

He stopped for a moment and told me that he had lost everything, his wife had run off with a river duck with a lovely mooring down on the canal, his ducklings scorn him as he has forgotten how to swim, and the board of Duck Affairs have revoked his right to quack near open waterways.

With this he sighed and waddled off, and I could any watch with a tear in my eye.

Street Ducks. Can you help poultry near you?

Contact Rights for Homeless Ducks with Sore Feet at this address, if you can offer a Duck a pond to live in, or a bird bath to rest his weary bones in. (Ducks can live in swimming pools as long as you haven't chlorinated the water)

Together, we shall overcome!

Where we have been.

SALUTATIONS FROM TROTTERANDFING!!!!!!

Regular readers will have noticed a lack of transmission, due to me being at home last week and my server being down, for this we can only apologise.

In the past week........

Trotter was calm for a very brief and lovely moment and was very sleepy and a touch confused.



Fat Boy Faggot, who hates the new bath and will not sleep in it, has taken to sitting in random places in the house, to see if he can get a feel for another room in the house. As you can see, he doesn't find the kitchen side particularly comfortable.



Tutz has been practising trying to pop her eyes out her head, without any success thankfully.


Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug face has hired a team of professional polishers to buff her up on a daily basis.


Lulu practised smiling and being happy, which lasted around 3 minutes before Trotter jumped on the sofa, so she bit his ankle.



And Boy? My Boy Fing? After dragging some clothes into a pile and peeing on them, inadvertently peeing all over my favourite white suede Reebok's, and black Diesel trainers, after sitting on the side and pushing a pint of water into the open drawer and soaking all my tee-shirts, after jumping into the airing cupboard, tipping all the clean towels onto the floor so that Trotter could pee on them, after opening the cupboard door and getting the dog iams out of the cupboard so that Lulu ate the entire bag and was sick, after opening the back door and letting Trotter out into the garden, after all these things, he slept as sound as a baby with no hint of remorse.

Boy.

Birthday Girl

'Happy Birthday!!!' shout the pets at Martha who until that point had been sound asleep in bed. A tousled head emerges from the duvet, Its Marth! Shes awake and its her birthday! Hurrah!

The pets have made a cup of tea, toast, a cake and kedgeree, just incase of emergency. They sit expectantly and watch the sleepy marth, who whispers 'just 5 more minutes' and promptly falls asleep again.

Trotter is ver dissapointed, he wanted Marth to wake up and open the card that he made for her, so he stands very close to the edge of the bed and barks loudly and unexpectedly into Marthas ear, this makes Martha sit bolt upright in bed like a startled Billy Idol, and unfortunately spills the tea all over Tutz, who 'ppprrooTTTTS'in an indignant manner.

Martha opens her cards, eats a small piece of toast, but wrinkles her nose at the gently steaming kedgeree in open defiance, so the cats eat it instead.

Later in the day the pets will be preparing a feast for Martha, and Varne, Mrs Warboise, Fly and Steve are coming round for a cup of tea, a slice of cake and large volumes of alcoholic beverages. And probably some duck spring rolls I would imagine.

Show

Today in Preachers Lane, the Pets are having an amateur talent contest.

Trotters is tap dancing as we speak, tip tappying his way round the room as the other pets watch from the sofa's.

Fing has bored everyone to tears with his 'I Claudius' rendition, Fat Boy Faggots limbo dancing was very warmly received and earned a heartfelt round of applause.

Tutz has done a variety of invertebrate impressions. As you are well aware her octopus is a work of beauty, and sometimes when she has been hanging in a boneless fashion over the top of her scratchy pole she has been mistaken for a grey furry squid.

Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, received a gasp of delight as she came in the room in a variety of veils and proceeded to belly dance. It is said the most warmly received belly dancers in Turkey are those with ample proportions, and it was exactly the same in the front room. There was lots of cheering and 'huzzahs!' as Lulu gyrated madly around the coffee table.

Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face has amazed everyone with her magic tricks. She put Tutz in a box and sawed her in half. Tutz thought this was even madder than usual and chirped and 'PPPRrroot'ed in a wild and excitable fashion, large yellow eyes like saucers. Giggsey then pulled Trotter out of a cardboard box, which came as a bit of a surprise for Trotter because he didn't realise he was in there in the first place. She played card tricks and read peoples minds, she made David Copperfield disappear and thankfully couldn't remember how to bring him back again. She made a locomotive appear and race through the sitting room, which everyone was very excited about as they got some snacks from the restaurant carriage.

All in all the pets decided that Giggsey deserved the prize for such a great talent, and all agreed that she really had been hiding a light under a bushel for far too long.

Baubles, Bangles and Beads.

It was a heavy weekend.

I returned from Justins around midday and surprisingly felt rather good. I decided to start making my costume for the comic book hero party at the pub and travelled all the way to the Cowley Road in search of Blue Glass Beads for a bracelet.

£40 later I returned home clutching all manner of jewellery making equipment and materials and spent the rest of the afternoon drilling holes into sea shells and snail shells, and threading brightly coloured beads onto lengths of copper wire.

Gruey came round and was astonished to find me so active.

The Marks came round and were astonished to find me at home.

Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face was astonished by the beads and shells and copper wire and kept trying to sneak an inquisitive paw on the table to hook something off.

5 hours later I had completed my beautiful bracelet for my outfit, as Niamh, from Slaine the King. I was very excited and pleased with myself as it was a proper work of art.

It is rather a shame that the theme for the party is no longer 'comics' but 'super heroes', as Niamh is definately not a super hero.

I am at a loss for what to do.

The time is now

It is ten past five, although due to daylight saving and the Scottish and their feudal system of farming and tithing, it should be ten past four.

Lily May Wing has finally gone to bed.

Maxine, Georgia and their wierd squaddie straight friend have dissapreared into the mist towards Gainsborough Green.

Karl and Juicy are talking family values. Batter or not to batter, with breadcrumbs, and possibly a small serving of tartare sauce.

Juicy is off on a cruise next week, he will tour the highlights and the low lights of the meditteranean. Oh yes, Monacco, Tunisia, the Port of Spain and Gibraltor, if he's lucky he may get to kiss a barbary ape.(do they look like old men?)

The rest of us are all a bit limp, we are all a bit legs and arms, like random,small octopi out of water, Jan has, as always, great style and pose with a casual leg, but unfortunately, the casual aspect of the rest of our bodies is slack and upsetting.

Justin has just made me a bit of loo roll with staples in it. I shall probably cherish it forever.

Karl has matching, yet not matching socks on top of his stocking, suspenders and woolen, knitted thong.

Claire has been trying to tidy up, but the rest of us has prooved to much for her.

Knitted Baubles apparently. That and blamange, air condittioned jackets powered by chipmunks and chicken fillets, wings, scrawny necks and scratchy feet.

entry by lily may wing

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Thursday

Trotter is still humping shoes.

Fing is still scraping things off the side.

Tutz is still happily listening to her inner voices.

Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face is still standing crosseyed and mewing in an annoyed fashion.

Fat Boy Faggot is sleeping in other places as he doesn't like the new bath.

Truly scumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west is constipated.

Thats it really.

He is

'OOooooohhhhhhhhh

Trotterry Rotterry, packed his trunk
and said goodbye to the circus,
Off he went with a trottery trot, trot! trot! trot!

Trottery Rottery packed his trunk
And trotted back to the jungle
Off he went with a trottery trot, Trot! trot! trot! '

Trotter is not an elephant.

He is a free man.

Carpet Day

Every 3 years or so, Varne and I like to entertain ourselves by laying new carpet. This day has traditionally become known as 'Carpet Day'.

Carpet Day, also traditionally, normally falls on a Sunday, when Varne and I have terrific hangover headaches, so it is customary to fortify ourselves with alcoholic beverages before we start wrestling with the large unwieldy roll of carpet.

There is no traditional place to purchase the carpet- We have purchased carpets from the catalogue, from Mayes World of Carpets, from a lovely carpet shop on the Cowley Road, long since closed, and once, in-advisably, from the back of a lorry in the car park. The Carpet from the back of the lorry was the one that caused Varne and I the most distress as unfortunately we had chosen our rolls in the dark and had picked 3 different shades by accident.

Sometimes the carpet we have bought is too small, so after we have moved all the furniture into the garden and have got a proper sweat on, we unroll it and stare at it in abject disbelief, then try moving it around to see if it will fit if its length ways instead of sideways. Of course, this never works, so those types of carpet day are very unfulfilling.

Sometimes, and more usually, the carpet is too big and Varne and I become drunk in charge of Stanley knifes, so the edges of the carpet do not bear close scrutiny. After all these years it is a small miracle that Varne and I have not seriously injured ourselves, given the drunkenness and all.

I didn't know yesterday was to be a Carpet Day until Fly arrived in a state of nervous exhaustion.

Varne was on the turn, he advised, and was refusing to listen to reason regarding laying of carpets.

I went down to see Varne who was smoking and unamused. 'Fuck it' she said.

I told Varne that she was being terribly naughty and so Fly and I wrestled the long, thin, piece of carpet up the stairs and started to cut off the edges and staple it into place.

Varne watched from the bottom of the stairs for a while and then realised that Carpet Day was officially here, opened the wine and started marking out the next piece of carpet.

After several hours of Stanley knifes, pincers, Phillips screwdrivers, glasses of wine and staple guns the carpet was in place.

I decided to celebrate by baking a cake. I went to town and purchased all the ingredients and then spent some time whipping together all of the ingredients in the mixer. Trotter barked at me while I was grating the chocolate for the filling and decided that he needed a different view of the kitchen so inspected my progress from the back of the sofa through the hatchway.



The cake went into the oven and I waited. The promised half an hour came and went as I watched the cake get bigger, and bigger and bigger, yet refusing to set in the middle. So I carried on waiting and watching until an hour had passed and the dome of the cake was crunchy and crispy and a dark brown.

Unfortunately tragedy struck.

I carefully removed the cake from the cake tin and left it to cool.

I came back to cut it into slices and discovered that the inside hadn't cooked and was all gloopy. Disheartened, but not yet beaten, I sliced it into 4 slices. The bottom one was fine, the next looked like a donut where I had to scoop out the gloopy insides, as with the 3rd. The 4th, the peak of the cake suddenly made a dash for freedom and smashed into a million crumbly pieces on the kitchen floor.

Trotter got down from the back of the sofa and Lulu ran and hid. Fing sat on the side and pretended he hasn't noticed as I stared at the crumbs and cried. I really couldn't take it, it took so long to bake it.

I decided to make the best of a bad job and threw it all together anyway.



The only person who had a slice was Martha. I think everyone else was too scared.

All in all it was a disappointing end to Carpet Day, well, perhaps not for Varne, who found my blow up Pecker and was enourmously excited. I would of added the picture, but we've already been accused of pornography and I wouldnt want to proove them right.

White Christmas

Meanwhile, Captain Jack dreamt of Tuna and a force ten gale, and lots of things very nautical indeed.

Thelma

As you are all aware, Trotter is so jam packed full of naughtiness that its inevitable that some of it has to escape.

The escaping naughtiness can sometimes be amusing, sometimes loud. Sometimes annoying and sometimes very stingy.

On Monday night the naughtiness came in the form of stingy.

The utter lunacy that is Thelma, next door, decided that she would purchase a can of cat food and a can of dog food for our pets, as she is prone to do on occasion. Sometimes she scrapes at the door with a bony finger and sometimes she stands by the front gate in a bemused fashion waiting for one of us to come out. On this particular pet food parcel occasion she choose to wait for one of us in her own front yard behind the enormous rosemary bush.

So, there she stood stood behind the aromatic herbs, singing hymns to occupy herself as she waited, swaying gently from side to side. Occasionally she clapped, or tried an experimental hop, just to keep herself amused.

So when Martha and a giddy Trotter came back from their walk, she leapt out from behind the bush in an excitable manner, waving the plastic bag and talking gibberish with a Jamaican accent. This, along with her slippers, red and black stripy socks, knitted hat and waterproof jacket was too much for Trotter to bear.

He leaped for the bag which by this point had been passed to a horrified Martha. And so, unfortunately, it was that Marthas hand was bitten by Trotters slavering 'anti Thelma' jaws. (As, not only is Trotter driven to distraction by bags, Thelma is the thing he hates the most in the world. More than pot plants, more than bedroom doors, moor than his own dinner bowl)

Embittered by the pain , Martha threw the bag of cans to the floor and stormed into the house crying 'WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO DO IT?', gripping her crippled appendage to her chest as if it were a wounded baby. 'WHY?'

'Because shes barking mad, Martha', i replied, but this fell on stony ground. Martha sat and muttered and rocked on the sofa in pain.

Trotter fell into a deep sleep, having discharged a sizable chunk of naughtiness he was able to rest, peacefully, for a whole half an hour. Unlike Martha, who is still in pain 3 days later.

Big Lou

On Monday Big Lou went for his yearly M.O.T.

the vet carefully checked his tire pressure and made sure he had enough oil, then weighed the boy and discovered he was 5 kilograms.

'Hmmmm', said the vet, 'considering the size of his head, thats a reasonable weight'.

Trotters has had a busy weekend dressing Fillipa Hole and some other random itternerant that ended up at my house on Friday night.

Fillipa was dressed in the beautiful purple sequinned dress that Trotters had run up on his old battered singer sewing machine, painstaikingly covered in sequins by a muttering Giggsey Girl.

In the dress, pink leg warmers covered in knee high black socks, a black wig and Carleens tiger skin robe, he resembled nothing more than a hooker on crack cocaine. It was warmly received by the rest of us as we had been up all night celebrating the weekend and were rather the worse for wear.

Varne decided that if Fillipa was in a frock that legs shood be shaved, but unfortunately took some skin off in the process, and a nipple was nearly lost in a horrific clipper incident.

Now the weekend is nearly over.

I feel like ive been kicked repeatedly in the kidneys by an irate racehouse. Milan is wrapped up on the sofa in one of the throws looking like a dead brown bear cub.

We are watching Crufts, the best dog show in the world. This has not stopped Trotter from chasing Tutz up the stairs. Trotter does not have a snowballs chance in hell of ever winning an award at Crufts, we dont know his breed, he's not particularly agile and he's downright disobediant. He did win Scruffiest dog at Oxford Pride but through default, as he was the only entrant. Mind you, I don't know any other dogs that have dreadlocks on their willies, so I think it was probably a well deserved win.

Discussion

'I think the most moving performance by an animal in a film has to be from the Incredible Journey, ' says Fing from the sofa. ' When that poor dog falls into the big watery pit and everyone thinks he has drowned',

'Oh Come on! Lassie has to be the most moving pet performer of all time?', disagrees Lulu , sitting on the kitchen side as she mixes a bowl of cookies with a cigar hanging out the side of her mouth.

'I don't know about 'moving', says Giggsey Girl The Stupid Slug Face, 'But I happen to think the best acting ever done in a film is by the cat who played Jones in Alien, then headlined in the sequel, Aliens, INCREDIBLE performance. Outstanding, that was pure terror on that cats face'

'Are we limited to cats and dogs?' asks Fat Boy Faggot, sat on the bench being given a manicure by Tutz, 'As I personally think that little pig rounding up those stupid woolly sheep in Babe deserves a medal'

Tutz is disinclined to comment as she feels the use of animals in films is akin to theft, do these animals reap the benefits of their hard work? No! Do they get to travel the world in yachts, dripping with diamonds and drinking Crystal? No! All they get, and that's if they're lucky, is regularly de-flea'd and groomed incessantly. No, she rather be quite mad and left to her own devises she decides as she becomes cross eyed with concentration, applying a coat of pink varnish to Faggots nails.

Trotter sits and listens to the conversation and cannot remember watching any films with animals in. Suddenly he has an epiphany. 'My favourite animal in a film is Ermentrude from the magic roundabout' he pipes up.

All the other pets do not disabuse him of this notion and smile at him warmly, 'Ermentrude it is then' says Fing, in a good humour for once.

Lulu makes tea for everyone and they all sit around and talk about the good old days instead.

Trotters Horoscope

Cancer: It could very well be that something in the air has got you out of sorts; many disagreeable odours cause more dramatic reactions from creatures with a high degree of sensitivity! Do what you can to alert your human companion to the irritant; no one wants you to suffer if they can do anything to prevent it! Some cleansers used at home may contain harsh chemicals; if that’s the case encourage your housemate to seek out more environmentally friendly products.

http://horoscopes.msn.co.uk/horoscopes_astrology/petscopes.php

Trotter in Soft Focus