With a crunch and a squeak it's morning

The small killer of things squeaky here can't have been satisfied with the half mouse deposited outside my bedroom door this morning. Strolled downstairs to find a carrier bag shroud for it, to find he'd done it's mate as well and left it on the lounge carpet. By now I'm used to the excellent camoflage opportunities afforded by this, and the resultant "spat" sound and retching from me as I pancake a corpse under my bodyweight and thus don't get caught out. I also don't walk downstairs barefoot anymore....

Well, an evening at the fun factory again.... blisters on my thumb from driving too hard; don't ask. And there's beer in the fridge again thanks to Tesco's very sociable 24 hour serving policy. Yay! Big salad for supper; I know the theory is that you're not supposed to eat after 8pm, but I get home at half midnight, tell someone who cares. And yes, a beer. Was watching that "stick James May in a Eurofighter" thing that was on the Beeb on Tuesday, on Youtube..... his pilot has the same name as my old history teacher, even the same nickname "Godders" - in fact even looks like the bloke. Of course, no way it IS him unless he's been cryogentically frozen for the last fifteen years. Apparently May is chuffed as mustard that he kept his guts in his body and his sickbag unsullied, where of course Clarkson famously barfed all over his F-15E joyride, and kept on barfing until they let him out again. Top tip - expect that to be mentioned on the new series of Top Gear, LOTS.