Bomble (tabletop version)

An indoor blip, as guess where I've been today? Got up for almost two hours, but retired shortly afterwards, not wishing to overdo the excitement. Blackbirds were fighting over the suet pellets on the hanging tray in the rhus tree. Squirrels, or possibly foxes, knock the feeders out of the tree at night, and steal them. Once, a top of the range 'squirrel buster' feeder disappeared without trace! So I have looped the chains of the tray round the branches many times over, and vowed not to buy expensive feeders.

The frost has now disappeared and the sun's out. It's looking and sounding quite springlike, with new leaves and flowers appearing daily. Blue tits are singing away in the garden.
CleanSteve has gone off to London on the train, to a Robyn Hitchcock gig. It's a 60th birthday gig for Robyn, and insider gossip has it that he is going to play the "Clean Steve" song that he wrote about - yes - CleanSteve! Unfortunately CleanSteve now has a nasty sore throat and general signs of the lergy. Fortunately, I am well enough to cook, if not too fussed about eating, and he'll be back tomorrow evening.

So, here's Bomble the naughty cat on the table. I'm a bit cross about the chair back and the bright lunch-bag in the background, but I could not remove them, and it's the only shot where I managed a good view of his profile. He has kept me company this week, and snuggled a great deal, as is his wont.

Social historians from another century would be amazed at the size of this fridge for two people! "Surely that should hold enough food to feed a small army!" they will exclaim. I have been trying to remember if my grandmother even had a fridge: I know she had a larder, but I am not sure about the fridge. Our house (built 1936) has a larder, but the layout of the house has changed, so it is now off the sitting room. A meter reader came the other day and I made him climb over the arm of the sofa to get into the larder/cupboard so that he could stand on a paint pot to read the meter! Meter readers are almost as rare as travelling bakers' vans, so I like to have some sport! Speaking of which, I no longer see the Scrappie cruising the street looking for discarded metal objects. Perhaps the area is now exhausted.