The Cat. The Parrot. The Red Vampire Monkey and the man from the RAC

It is not easy to write this when Sooty the Cat is trying to lick my hands at the same time. Why don’t cats understand that typing requires at least one working hand? I am not Captain Flint the Parrot I am not able to write with my beak.  Captain Flint can write 30 words a minute but only in parrot; I will let him have a go now

Aafkj ‘ I ihg g lkhkhjuyo riyyeryr b  gwyroyt  squawk  eitij j jjk  pieces dmg  oko of o k  jme ight HA  r AAH ra a har har har dadmln nfn ahrrhh sfmjht;js hgn trqc   gl gh Brazil Nutttss   fj jkrj kjfk jfkj

As you can see unless you’re a parrot it does not make a lot of sense although I do know it involves food because Parrots tend to think about food a lot, much like the cats and the dog and me and dad.

I have spent the day in the cellar moving other rubbish that has been revealed from under the mountain of computers, most of which mum and dad had forgotten they had. It appears it is a traditional house moving pastime, looking at all the stuff you put in boxes when you moved previously but subsequently never opened. Dad said that’s useful I didn’t know I still had that and has taken things out of one box and put them in a new box to take with us when we move so it can be stored safely in the new cellar. Apparently we don’t have a new cellar O DEAR.

The dog has been back in the woods looking for more aliens despite the fact the alien is a man in a caravan with a granny that makes mad jumpers he even arrived back home with an arm of what he said was an alien. But it turned out to be one of the arms of a life size Ronald McDonald again which was covered in barbeque sauce and pond weed. Mum thinks the dog is just keen to meet aliens rather than campers in caravans. Maybe I should ask dad to make a steam powered alien to roam through the streets with lasers and death rays shouting Exterminate all humans and take me to your leaders. Maybe not it reminds me of the 500ft sausage story all over again and look what happened that time.  

The ghost writer got a another present today from Miss Sally of our favourite eating place Big Bills Greasy Fur Ball Café it was a Red Vampire Monkey, well cool, he gets some interesting presents bearing in mind he is a grumpy old git.

 And finally  a sort of by the way as it happens sort of event, a man from the RAC phoned up dad to flog him insurance a short time ago but apparently he was far too nice and as dad put it; did not have the killer instinct, and was very nice but rubbish.