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Recent Posts

On the Move

We are at War

Holly Days

Operation Hussy Cat

A Mouse Astray

Standards Slip

Times Past

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A concerned reader As it has now bee...

On the Move | 26th January 2009, 22:35  
One cannot, and will not, begin to journalise the minutiae of the past two and a half years. Now 10 years older I am in my prime and to be fair somewhat disheartened by my lifetime's achievements thus far. Yes, okay I've eaten the finest liver pâté, and starred fleetingly in a Sci-Fi movie but what have I done of merit, really? To be fair I have neglected this blog; since my discovery of a "MacBook" down the side of the sofa I can no longer blame Ashley stealing my démodé computer for my continued lack of web presence. When I checked my emails I could scarcely believe I had a comment, the first in four and a half long years. It does flatter oneself to not only have a diminutive following but also one that cares for one's wellbeing. So now some of tit-bits from the past few months:

The appearance of a Picea abies (L.) specimen in the lounge signals in the start ceremonial of Christmas period. With my more youthful years behind me, I have now made peace with the Christmas tree having finally discovered its true purpose. Obviously the family cleverly arrange the series of boxes of differing heights beneath the tree to assist me in reaching the lower limbs and allowing me to benefit from their back-scratching potentials.

The Christmas day arrived, perhaps signalled by a phase of the moon or the nights beginning to shorten again. The elders and their childs entered their frenzied trace-like fettle and rampantly tore at the decorative box encasings. I watched as chocolates, clothes and flummeries emerged. Then I spotted it. The final missing item from operation "katze-abenteuer": a suitably sized suitcase. Finally, I can follow my trusty bed warmer back to Yuniver, the mythical uncharted city.

Knapsack packed with entertainment and food for a journey of unknown length, I hoped that it wouldn't be as uncomfortable as my expedition to the ISS. Not to worry the family by my absence I arranged for Espen, one of the stunt doubles from my film-years, to stand in. Already trained in my idiosyncrasies he could fool even the most perceptive of humans, and even mother now that she has turned to the "nip".

A bit tight in the "tail area"

Before leaving I met up with Graeme - oh how he has aged. Recently, he came in to some good fortune when a vacancy became available with the Cat Lady across the black country. (Poor Tom; may he purr in peace). He told me that he was now going by the pseudonym "Harry" and spent most of his time pottering around the cosy house. I hardly recognised the poor fellow. I worry that he may not be here on my return, but he couldn't be in a better place - not many establishments come with a quality roaring log fire these days.

It was a bumpy journey, stowed away vertically in the suitcase. Luckily the suitcase was only lightly packed with a selection of clean clothes for me to snuggle in. I don't know why the elders were going on about Yuniver because Ashley and his mate most definitely live in Coventry, unless the transportation station has been inaccurately signposted. The faith I had placed in Ashley's indifference to unpacking was well founded and the case remained untouched as they settled in another room.

I adopted the reverse Claurflique method to unzip the suitcase; ambitious and perilous it may be, but you never know who might have been observing and a cat cannot be allowed to pass up any opportunity to make a good impression. Unfortunately, my perfectly executed unveiling went unnoticed. From the subtle visual clues perceptible only to an attuned feline I designated this room to be the bedroom. As a well-trafficked area would prove an unsuitable hideout I moved into the corridor and into what appeared, from the bed being on its side against the wall, to be a scarcely used spare-bedroom. The bed, topped with folded quilt and pillow, was perfectly elevated, acceptably comfortable, came with an all-important window view and was hidden behind a door.

It didn't take long for the humans to leave me in peace; this was my time to explore my new surrounds. The flat was certainly very different to the Elders' abode; laminate flooring, stark white walls, ugh Swedish furniture, and industrial-sized gazing windows. It would transpire that my new home was elevated in more significant ways than I had previously considered - I was on the 7th floor. Pleasantly, there were many bookshelves, one of which held a tome that made my heart skip several beats. Ashley has a copy of the holy text - The Devious Books for Cats. The things he could know of feline kind; our venerable history, our shadowy influence over domestic and world affairs, the secrets behind our honed hunting tactics, and our subversive human control techniques. It would explain his mastery of cuddles...

The most intriguing part of the flat was the hall. Seven doors. The purpose of five of these was obvious. The sixth was shut, but off the latch. Again my mother's training was invaluable and in ways I cannot detail here I teased the door open. Oh My God. Yay! Could any sight warm the heart of cat more? An entire room filled with boxes. Big. Empty boxes. And tissue paper! It took me right back to my kitten days. I wanted to shred each and every coloured sheet but the seventh door piqued my attention. It gurgled. Before I had time to investigate I heard an external door creak open and quickly shut the joyful sixth door and made for my hideout.

Ashley and his mate had returned. Contented with enough excitement for one day I snuggled into the pillows and had a nibble on some of the treats I had packed. I couldn't stop pondering about what lay behind the seventh door. From here I can hear its glugs and gurgles. I have consulted the Text and must agree with its content. Since I have now ruled out ghosts, monkeys, dirigibles, murderers and robot dogs this logically leaves the only one alternative; I must surmise a parallel dimension is beyond, full of everything a cat could desire!

There is much more for me to explore, especially how I can leave this lofty flat and investigate its surroundings. But first thing in the morning I must add some pouches of cat food to the Sainsbury's online shopping list they just submitted.

Hope to be in touch again soon.
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We are at War | 27th July 2006, 20:56  
It has been some time since my last entry in my journal, but now that Ashley has brought my computer back from Yuniver and is out working I have found an opportunity to sum up recent events. Sadly there is no discernable pattern to his work hours so my use of the computer must always be quick and guarded for fear that he might discover my secret and put me on show in one of those circus things as I have seen with other creatures on the picture box.

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It really doesn't bare thinking about does it?

Nothing much of interest could have been said to h ave happened in the past 5 months other than that we are currently in a state of war. Mother and I declared thus upon all interlopers into our territory some time ago, and since have been waging a tough campaign against many felines; especially the ginger and white invader of the black ground before the house. Mother has recently been promoted to General, and as a flag officer who is no longer required to serve on the front lines, remains in the headquarters building keeping watch over the battleground whilst I lead the offensive against our foe.

It is a long and tedious fight. Twice now we have thought that we had attained victory, having enlisted the assistance of the family in our efforts to liberate the black country. The first time, they captured the enemy and detained it in a portable cell which was placed into an automobile and driven off. Our celebratory feast was however cut short when the automobile returned and the enemy was returned to our lands by the traitorous family. They shall not be relied upon again.

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A recently declassified spy photo of the "ginger and white cat" trying to enter the house

Generally, the enemy has been satisfied remaining in their respective occupied territories; but I had the suspicion that the ginger and white cat was partaking in reconnaissance far too close to home. My nose does not deceive me, but the new hissing device in the hallway makes matters difficult. I haven't fathomed its purpose yet; a cat height jet of apricot scented, eye stinging vapour... most bissare. Nonetheless, he had been there, and the lounge, and even the kitchen. One is never safe; the other day I was ambushed whilst in my own garden. The bastard thing caught me by surprise and I suffered a nasty wound to my head. This did not go unavenged and an equal nasty wounding was dealt to the black minion that the ginger and white cat has conned into assisting him. As I returned to base following the enemy's retreat I was spotted by the Girl who noticed my wound and reported it to her father. I escaped as fast as I could, but not before they got a good look at my swollen head.

Mother soon reported to me that they had mentioned Vet. Letting these humans tend to our every whim, whilst usually pleasant, does come with the added displeasure which results from their needless worry. 'Vet' is what they use when euphemistically referring to the clinical white man of horrors, famed for such illegalities as sodomy with a thermometer and forced swallowing of foul medicines. As such, one must listen for a time mentioned in the surrounding conversation as this usually acts as a clue for when such meeting with Vet may occur. On the Vet day a programme is followed of gorging on food; begging to be set free in the morning with innocent eyes promising an obedient return; and spending the day hidden in the long grass until the appointment is missed.

Throughout the day Ashley called me from the house, he even walked around the garden shaking crunchies and wafting the rather delicious smell of salmon and tuna. I began feeling sorry for him, but stood my ground; mother only once had to hold me in place by my tail to stop me dashing across the lawn - it was a level 7 hiding place after all, not something one would want to divulge the location of. After an all out search with appearances from both Elders, the Girl, Ashley, and his mate, they had finally failed. I gave them time to make the call - and a little longer, enough for the veterinarian to give some other creature my wretched appointment. Feeling proud of my day's work I slunk back in to eat. Straight into their arms. They scooped me up and into the metal prison cell I was dumped; they had tricked me. I sat smouldering as they put me into their automobile, plotting how to punish them for this treachery.

Whilst sliding about the back of the car I recalled my readings on the techniques those of the medical inclination may resort to when performing one of these so-called 'check-ups'. One's mind boggles as to what a 'cat-scan' might entail; but I will certainly not be submitting myself to such indecencies without injuring most, if not all of the parties involved. We pulled into the car park, and as the doors opened the memories of my childhood wafted through my nose. Found abandoned, alone with my mother; vague sensations of what may have been siblings in my first weeks or perhaps just a mere fabrication of a clouded mind. I've tried to approach mother on this issue a few times but found her to be defensive and almost aggressive in her reluctance to discuss the subject.

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Surely not?

Nothing can quite explain the sensation of being carried around in a caged room; the swinging and bobbing of the human gait is most unsettling. We approached the surgery and my ears braced themselves for the offensive door chime. In the brief amount of time I spent in the waiting area I managed to notice that the place was packed full of dogs; Ashley then decided it best to wait outside in the shade. It is a common misconception that cats and dogs do not get along. Cats can often be amused by their canine friends, in the same way one derives satisfaction from watching a spider trying to crawl from a bath. Dogs on the other hand are much too stupid to realise we are of a different, superior species, and bark and snarl in much the same way as they do for anything they see that moves.

The encounter with Vet was much as expected; my attempts to remain in my cage failed when it was rotated vertically and shaken; then ensued the prodding, stabbing, shaving, squeezing, swallowing, and final shoving into the cage again (the only part I gladly complied with). I don't know what all the fuss was about, because I certainly looked far worse by the end of it.

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I found these images on my computer, Ashley must have copied them from his camera and left them on my desktop.

The locks on the cage are merely for aesthetic purposes; any self respecting cat will know the Purrman Manoeuvre for disabling them. It does not usually suit ones needs to do so in normal transit, but for their previous treacheries the Elders could do with a scare. I spotted Graeme rubbing himself up against the rough wall of the bay window on the lounge and decided a catch-up-chin-wag was in order. Much has changed in the past year and I no longer consider him the 'scurrilous brute' that once plagued my black country. After many long stares through the window, and more heated exchanges of glances during the day we finally got chatting and found we shared many of life's interests. The aged cat of at least 18 years is perhaps a mirror of my future self, only hopefully without the torn ear and blind eye. So yes, a nuzzle, a claw, a chew and I was free; together we bolted up the school drive.

So all in all it has been a mixed few months; the ginger and white finally vanished (I sadly missed the event). It is nice to have my bed warmer back, even if he does talk in his sleep, kick me during the night and freak out when I brush against his leg in the morning.
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Holly Days | 10th February 2006, 00:02  
Well Christmas has come and gone and it has been an interesting few months. About two weeks before the big day I had my suspicions something was awry, as all the bedrooms seemed rather bare and uncharacteristically tidy. However, if it weren't for me waking up for a midnight snack, I would have missed the whole event. At about three in the morning the house was alive and not just Ashley hogging the computer into the wee hours. The Elders and the Girl were up and about, stressing for no apparent reason. I tried to ignore the shastrix and headed back up to my chosen bed, which happened to be in the Girl's room that night, but returned to find she had changed the sheets. Hours of careful kneading of quilt into the right shape and warming the sheets were ruined. Out of spite, I decided to leave a present for her and made my way into Ashley's room instead.

Mother later attempted to enlighten me, explaining that it was their Holly Day; though after careful inspection of my calendar I found no such event listed; I must investigate this day further. Many hours passed alone in the house, it suddenly dawned on Mother and I that they might have forgotten about us, abandoned without food or warm beds. As the daylight hours grew thin, I began on my memoirs, but no sooner after contemplating a witty title, I was distracted by somebody clumsily opening the front door. Mother and I took our places; I at the top of the stairs behind the banister and Mother on top of the curtain rail next to the door. As it slid open we held our breaths... but thankfully it was only the Girl's boyfriend.

It turned out that he was sent to be our servant; he fed, he cleaned, and he let us out in the mornings and back in in the evenings. It was a peaceful existence, and I was looking forward to a quiet Christmas on the sofa eating my turkey chunks with festive vegetables in gravy. I was however disappointed. After going to bed early on Christmas Eve, I was woken by the return of the family; who, with no consideration for Mother and I, stormed in and demanded hugs.

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Grandma cat buys the worst gifts...

More recently, other strange events have been occurring. Ashley disappeared again, stealing my computer before I had a chance to update you on the festive follies, but also the parents moved temporarily into his room. This I found most puzzling, especially when I returned to spend the night in their room to find it had transformed into a rather unrecognisable form. Mother disagreed with this new décor and decided to play games with the Elders. Recently, we discovered that a short dash through the fence into the garden next door, a jump onto the wall then the water storage tank, a scurry over the garage roof and on to the veranda, a tiptoe back across the clematis into our garden, and a climb onto the kitchen roof and up to the window ledge, provided an easy route for entry into the house via a small window. After the family discovered this, their underestimation of our abilities has led them to worry about our safety. In protest, Mother has decided to use this access as her sole route of entry into the house. It has been rather amusing to watch the female Elder open all the doors to the garden in an attempt to coax her in via other methods.

Last month the most cunning of plans passed through my mind. After searching the garage for an old walkman, and salvaging the microphone from a decrepit two-way radio, I managed to construct a primitive recording device. Over the past three weeks I have been collecting sound-bites from the family in every day discussion. Last week, after playing through my collection, I finally had enough for my scheme to bear fruit. With some old fashioned tape cutting and sticking I formed a message in the human tongue and located the telephone number of the RSPCA. A phone call later and the deed was done, all I had to do was sit in my favourite window-gazing spot and wait. At precisely 16:32 on Wednesday, a van carrying the charity's emblem pulled up. A man and woman sat inside and scanned through some notes. Right on cue the hussy cat, which has been causing me endless aggravation, crawled her way up the street. Before she could react to the sight, a net and cage whisked her up and the good people of the RSPCA deposited her in the back of their van. One can only hope she is re-homed to a caring, loving family... preferably with small children...

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A priceless photo of the moment before the van doors shut her out of my life...
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Operation Hussy Cat | 6th December 2005, 19:11  
Much time has passed since I last pawed an entry into my journal. Ashley stole my computer again at the end of September; I'm sure there is some link between this 'Yuniver City' they speak of and his prolonged disappearances. This is therefore an entry from November that I have been keeping on a napkin. I have only just noticed, but you may already be aware, that the layout of these blogs has changed. It seems that this Jim fellow must have spotted the plans I had drawn up when he last visited – all those months I spent leaning PHP wasted. Naturally, he has not met my high standards, but at least it's not in ASP.

Following the events of my last entry, I have been investigating further this dubious cat which the family have been feeding. Further arousing my suspicion I overheard Ashley comment before he left that she probably had five owners. For several weeks now I have been watching her movements from my perch on the window sill. True to Ashley's word, every evening she makes her way up the street, visiting each house in turn. Clearly she has spent much time calculating which are the most gullible residents and always heads for the same five, three on this side and two across the tarmac death trap.

With her routine lodged firmly in my memory, I set out to confront the hussy. The daughter was sitting at the computer shopping on Amazon for Christmas presents – I already know about the iPod nano that I am getting this year as she forgot to clear her history yesterday. I rubbed past her legs to initiate the 'kitten wants something' routine, and true to form she was on the floor straight away speaking human at me. As a cat I am often patronised by humans, who seem to think that using a higher pitch will allow themselves to be more clearly understood. Anyways, a small cuddle, and I dragged myself a few paces closer to the stairs. After a few minutes I shot down to the ground floor, human in tow. She provided food, even though I had already eaten, and let me outside – muttering something about mother and I being picky about our food.

The weather this month has been rather unseasonal, and has left me wondering if autumn will ever arrive. The trees may have noticed and kept their leaves but my winter coat has already arrived leaving me hotter than Cindy Purfect in the centre-fold Caribbean Cats spread in last month's Playcat magazine. My usual route to the front of the house has been blocked by the addition of a new fence along the garden's left border, however a new exit exists from behind the shed. I squeezed under the wire fence, muddying my white underside and began to trot down the school drive towards the front garden.

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Paparazzi shot of Cindy on her vacation in the Maldives

I ducked beneath the silver automobile, hiding behind the front wheel as I waited for her to come up the road on her nightly rounds. Every few seconds I sneaked a peak through the wheel, glancing at my watch to check the time. She was exactly on schedule, crawling her painful act across the school driveway and into my territory. I let her move in closer, past the automobile and towards the front of the house. When she had her back to me I slowly crept out, readying myself for the pounce. She let out the most protracted meow she could muster, even throwing in a cough or two at the end. Her act was however cut short. Ashley had made an untimely appearance and in an almost comic fashion hissed and flailed his arms at her. Horrified, she made an uncharacteristically energetic escape, literally leaping over me as she fled. A mild satisfaction lingered for a moment, but was soon replaced by annoyance at Ashley's interruption of my carefully choreographed lynching.

In defiance I attempted to flee, scuttling back under the silver automobile. I could hear his footsteps crunching around the drive, before a beaming face appeared in front of me. I darted backwards as quickly as a cat can when under a car, but the biped had beaten me. Dragged, claws primed, from under the car, I was ready to maul him. But when he masterfully whisked me onto my back and rubbed my belly, I melted. It has been a while though – perhaps he has more of those mice with him…
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A Mouse Astray | 19th August 2005, 22:25  
Gently, I kicked the small furry lump. I leapt above it as it rolled towards the armchair, twisting myself in midair so that it scurried into my waiting paws. The mice that live in this house are crafty young things, although their population has seemed to be decreasing recently. The only one I could find today had now made its way under the sofa; I lay on my back, paws outstretched for maximum reach. With a slight tap, my claws gained purchase and the mouse rattled towards me - strange how the outdoor mice never do that...

The eldest two sat watching the image box in the corner of the room. A curious cast iron contraption now adorns the fireplace; I found myself mesmerised by the hypnotic patterns of the flickering flames and all thoughts of the mice vanished from my mind.

And in a flash, silence.

The dancing flames of the fire died out and there was a muted whirr as it ceased producing heat – remarkable how nature can be controlled these days. The image box was non-functional and even the orange glow of the streetlamps through the window had disappeared.

In the instant of calm that followed, my eyes adjusted to the primitive darkness and the familiar shapes around me took form once again. The father had just enough time to let out a groan before a tremendous growl shook the house. My first thought was that it was Buster, the 8 foot Doberman who had chased me last night, but that was just a dream. The mother then commented about something called a thunderstorm, so I felt confident enough to let go of the valance above the patio windows.

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It was only a few minutes until the lighting returned and the image box began to spue its noise once more. Not being one for reality television I began my bolt upstairs; but was interrupted when a familiar smell hit my nose. Memories of the 7th annual p?t? festival at Hampton Loade crept into my mind, and I sharply reversed course back into the living room, where the treats awaited. I don't know why but the family have recently begun this new tradition, each day indulging me in a variety of culinary delights.

I rolled about on the floor, reaching out with my paws and kneading the air. I found that this man?uvre was especially good at melting the hearts of my house dwellers, who would then reciprocate with ample treats. Something however was decidedly peculiar about this new routine. After my attention was sufficiently engaged the father would leave the room and retrieve something from the kitchen, before opening the front door. Curiosity hadn't killed me yet, so I ducked out from beneath the mother's arm, which was now rubbing my stomach, and snuck out of the door. From my vantage point on the stairs I saw a father like figure through the stained glass of the front door, and as he opened the door to enter the house I saw her. A flush of anger rippled through me as my hair stood up; on hearing my hiss she looked up nonchalantly; but then the door was shut. What was he thinking? Was I the victim of an outrageous plot to deceive? I retired to by bed, bubbling with fury.

On consulting mother it would seem she was a stray from the park; an elderly cat of 19 whose owner died last year. It was puzzling how much my mother knew of this cat and it later turned out she was aware of the scheme and neglected to inform me because 'she knew I'd react this way'. I calmed a little, and accepted that other cats were not as fortunate as ourselves; but the thought couldn't escape my mind that there was something devious about that cat, something in the eyes...
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Standards Slip | 1st May 2005, 22:20  
Mother is beginning to become somewhat worried. Her two bed-warmers are missing, and have been so for the past few days. I hope they come back soon; Mother is getting used to having that bed to herself, and may later try to steal mine. It has dawned on me that the food has become somewhat sparser; the girl has not been feeding us too well of late.

At first, Mother thought nothing of it - they often return home late. She sat, as usual, in her hole at the top of the garden ready for the 'call in of the cats'. The moon began its watch over the night sky, and yet they had still not returned. Perhaps there was some meaning behind the pile of cases at the bottom of the stairs?

Mother began to shiver, an autonomic thermogenic response to cope with the sudden drop in ambient temperature. The light of the moon reflected off of the mirrored surface of a puddle, glinting in my eyes as I gazed from beneath the wooden table beside the house. We waited, staring across the lawn at each other; I could almost hear the borborgymi of her stomach from where I lay. Some detritus crunched, my ears twitched, sensing for the movement of a trespasser in our land. There was nothing more. Mother rested her head on her front paws, shutting her eyes; she barely moved as I settled in next to her, offering her my warmth.

I was awoken by a startling high-pitched squeal from the girl. Finally, she had pulled herself away from whatever distraction she had, remembering the two of us. On my feet in an instant, I was darting towards the light from the kitchen, in through the door, and skidding on the mat as I went. My snout had barely touched the food that they had provided before I was whisked into a cuddling embrace.

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Mother waited, slowly counting to twenty – she never likes to seem too desperate. Released from the torturous embrace I sat under the dining room table awaiting the impending theatre that follows. Slowly, she pulls her body out from her hole, stretching to her full length before creeping across the garden. Their excitement builds and they call out to her from the door. On cue Mother freezes, then scurries back behind the pampas grass. Then the lights go off, they pretend to shut the door, rattle the locks, and crouch beside the counter in the dark. By now Mother tires of the shastrix; she walks over to the patio, peering gingerly around the edge of the door. It opens. A few minutes of rolling on the patio and the rigmarole is concluded. In a flash she is up the stairs and waiting in the corner of her room.

I continued to dine on the repugnant lamb casserole and crunchy fish bits provided. Upstairs, Mother waited diligently for her meal. That was when it dawned. The female elder was not in her bed and the male was not in the lounge, which is where I usually find him whilst en-route to my sentry point in the bay window.

Now here I am, exchanging cuddles for scraps, and competing for bowl space with strays at the house on the other side of the concrete river. Mother is still too proud to join me, so I have to relay titbits across to her. How I long for Ashley, and that flying mouse he has.
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Times Past | 7th February 2005, 21:55  
The joyous times of 'Christmas' past, the family who I command have returned to their daily routines of work and learning; once again have left mother and I to our own desires. Having chased the squirrel all afternoon however, I had tired out my little body and settled down stretched out on the sofa for a nap. My mind began to wander back to a time when I was slightly more active... a time before I came to this place.

"Spot's personal log, Stardate 47653.2. It would appear that I am pregnant. This is good news, as I have noticed a lack of pets amongst the crew of this vessel, and if I can populate it with my progeny then I can gradually take over the minds of the crew through their pets."

I had delivered the line with perfection, knowing damn well that despite its presence in the script, they were hardly likely to actually include Data's cat's log entry on the final show. Not the only problem with the script mind - the previous episode I had been in I was a male! I was scooped up from the floor by the actor who played Data – he holds me so clumsily, the damn android, and the director called 'Cut'.

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I must admit, I have always thought that the entire premise of having a cat aboard the Starship Enterprise was a little silly. Is he/she meant to be able to roam the vessel at will? Surely they wouldn't expect a cat to stay in ones quarters, we are a territorial animal. How does the cat get between decks? Do the turbolifts have cat voice recognition? Does he mark out his territory around Data's quarters? Do the crew leave litter trays in the corridors? Of course, I never voiced these concerns to the creative staff - they might have written my character out.

I spotted Rick, the big boss, who had appeared on one of his rare visits to the set, and made my way over, rubbing myself around his ankles. As the Ferengi say on the other Star Trek show, it never hurts to suck up to the boss, and I was after a part in the forthcoming movie.

I followed the other actors as they left the soundstage and headed to their trailers. They would be having a short break before heading for lunch, and would more than likely offer me some delicious titbits from the canteen.

I was, however, brought abruptly back to the present by the shrill tone of the device that the family use to communicate with the outside world and listened in as they answered. Someone called Wilson I gathered, calling about some contract. Nothing interesting, so I stretched myself out and padded out of the room, looking for something to chase.

Ah the old life was good, but I've grown up now – enjoying the chance to take life more slowly. Perhaps I wouldn't mind dabbling back into the celebrity world again though – that brief appearance in Nemesis a few years ago was fun after all...
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