New Friend

Marlowe is moving up in the world. Before yesterday all he'd ever brought home were shrews. But yesterday I cornered his latest friend behind the TV and it turned out to be a field vole- and voles are bigger and fatter than shrews. He didn't seem to have done it any serious damage- so I bundled it up in a shawl and released it into the long grass.

Speaking Truth To Power

I'm not watching the BAFTAs but I did happen to catch the bit where Peter Kominsky kicked off proceedings by telling John Whittingdale what an arse he is- and got a standing ovation for it.

I hope Whittingdale was watching- and Cameron (who is behind Whittingdale)- and Murdoch (who is behind Cameron).

I got a little carried away. I believe I may have smacked the coffee table with my fist. And If there'd been a barricade handy I'd have been happy to clamber up it with my blunderbuss.