» Accidental animal cruelty

Bimbo and the bowl.
This story concerns two friends of my parents; Nick and Jill.

Nick is a good humoured guy of great patience. Jill is extremely houseproud and tends to get uptight about things like interior decoration. They live in a large Victorian sandstone house that they have renovated over the last two decades.

They had a cat called Bimbo. Bimbo was a lovely cat; a ginger female that had been brought up with their two children, and had never posed any problems.

Then they redid their kitchen. Black tiles; granite surfaces; anything that could be lifted had to be chrome. To accommodate Bimbo, they installed a catflap that was activated by a magnet on her collar. The whole thing looked fantastic- like something out of a catalogue. They were understandably chuffed with their efforts.

The cat, on the other hand, seemed less than pleased. They would put food in her bowl and come back to find it spread across the tiles. It happened every time they fed her- she would seemingly shun her food and throw it across the kitchen, covering the cupboards and floors.

Jill was not pleased. Her new kitchen was being violated several times a week. She became convinced that Bimbo was succumbing to old age- she was around 16 at this point- and started to talk about having her put down. Nick convinced her not to act so rashly; they could train the cat out of her behaviour.

Around a week later (with no change in moggy behaviour) they were sitting in their living room. The door was open.

Nick spotted a ginger blur.

"Jesus, I've just seen the cat run by with its bowl under its chin!"

Jill was understandably skeptical, but followed him out to the hall. There they found Bimbo and her beautiful chrome bowl surrounded by cat food.

Nick picked her up with one hand, and picked up her bowl in the other. He spoke to her in the exasperated tone familiar to anyone who has ever tried to train a cat.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he said, waving the bowl close to the cat's face. "You're making such a mes..."

At that point the chrome bowl pulled itself to the catflap magnet on Bimbo's collar. The cat let out a helpless 'miaow'.

The poor thing had been starving over the previous fortnight- every time she'd tried to eat, her bowl had stuck to her collar and she'd panicked.

Bimbo lived to around 19 and died of natural causes. She ate the rest of her meals from a ceramic bowl.
(Sun 9th Dec 2007, 22:21, More)

» Housemates

I love my flatmates.
After years of living with people I didn't really get on with, I took a chance and moved in with my best friend and a friend who has since become another best friend.

As I type this, he's sitting opposite me rolling a cigarette surrounded by pizza boxes and coke cans.

Anyway, we moved in to this wonderful flat near the centre of Edinburgh at the end of summer 2006. Three bedrooms and a boxroom; sizable, with a very reasonable rental price.

My dad and stepmum went off on holiday and I borrowed their car. It was a hot summer of roadtrips with a ska-punk soundtrack.

One of our regular destinations was Ikea. We came for the hotdogs and left with crap we didn't need from the reduced to clear area.

One day, we arrived at Ikea and found a very interesting bargain sitting at the front door. Or, should I say, 2500 interesting bargains. Suddenly, our boxroom had a purpose beyond storing crap!



Oh yes.



A little 'recycled' wood, some screws and we had ourselves a fully functioning ball pool.

It doesn't stay up all year, it only comes out at party time.



Here are the gents themselves; David Candy and Paul Sleggs, you guys are the best friends and flatmates a guy could want.

It's not about the length. It's about the love.
(Sat 28th Feb 2009, 0:56, More)

» Siblings

My dad has now emailed me a picture. Allow me to introduce...
Ewan Geoffrey Scott, born 12:45 on the 30th of December 2008.




A ray of sunshine on what otherwise was, for me, a rubbish day.

Edit: I've also figured out what this picture reminds me of. "A frickin' 'laser'".
(Tue 30th Dec 2008, 22:55, More)

» Family Holidays

Provence, France. July 1993.
Back in the days before my parents divorced, my dad considered a 'great holiday' to consist of loading up our Ford Sierra estate and matching trailer full to bursting point with camping gear, clothes, my long-suffering mother and my brother and I.

I was about to turn eight; my brother would have been five.

After what may well have been days of driving down French motorways, my mum was looking forward to some proper amenities- anyone who has ever visited an old-school French motorway service station will be familiar with 'squatting' toilets. Those who aren't can probably guess the arrangement.

We finally arrived at the campsite, rendezvoused with my grandparents and set about settling in. My dad struggled with our massive tent, my mum went to wash some clothes at the facilities block and my brother and I acted like young children.

Soon, my brother approached my mum saying he needed the toilet. She pointed him in the direction of the gents, next to where she was washing the clothes. He disappeared inside and came out just a few seconds later.

"Mum, there's just a hole in the ground!"

"Oh no," thought my mum "we're going to have to squat for the whole blooming holiday. Fan-bloody-tastic."

"Just use it anyway, dear. It's just like the ones on the autoroute."

A few minutes pass, and my brother emerges from the block in tears, soaking wet.

He'd been peeing into the showers.

And he'd tried to flush.
(Fri 3rd Aug 2007, 20:54, More)

» Siblings

Pearoast time!
Back in the days before my parents divorced, my dad considered a 'great holiday' to consist of loading up our Ford Sierra estate and matching trailer full to bursting point with camping gear, clothes, my long-suffering mother and my brother and I.

I was about to turn eight; my brother would have been five.

After what may well have been days of driving down French motorways, my mum was looking forward to some proper amenities- anyone who has ever visited an old-school French motorway service station will be familiar with 'squatting' toilets. Those who aren't can probably guess the arrangement.

We finally arrived at the campsite, rendezvoused with my grandparents and set about settling in. My dad struggled with our massive tent, my mum went to wash some clothes at the facilities block and my brother and I acted like young children.

Soon, my brother approached my mum saying he needed the toilet. She pointed him in the direction of the gents, next to where she was washing the clothes. He disappeared inside and came out just a few seconds later.

"Mum, there's just a hole in the ground!"

"Oh no," thought my mum "we're going to have to squat for the whole blooming holiday. Fan-bloody-tastic."

"Just use it anyway, dear. It's just like the ones on the autoroute."

A few minutes pass, and my brother emerges from the block in tears, soaking wet.

He'd been peeing into the showers.

And he'd tried to flush.
(Sun 28th Dec 2008, 16:31, More)