whatho | I saw too many times on the clock in the night.

The cats woke me at 3.30am and demanded I escort them into the garden lest they enact a dirty protest on the brand new bathroom floor. So I did that, and as I stood on the sodden lawn in my pyjamas, shivering comprehensively and trying hard to remain upright, I wondered if, should some incident befall me, such as a lightning-strike or a fainting spell or my slipping on a frog, and I were left sprawled on the ground amongst the slugs, would the cats rush indoors and awaken my parents and lead them to my prostrate form? Or would they rush indoors, awaken my parents and lead them only as far as the empty food bowls? I felt a bit mean for wondering that when the boy came up to bed with me and rumbled like a moderate-sized hive of bees. The point is that I'm fairly tired.

There's snooker soon, for all the good snooker is, and dancing later, which is better. I don't like the Guardian crossword today. It's obsessively themed. I keep finding pieces of sweetcorn in the carpet.