Monthly Archives: January 2013

New Zealand Cat Ban

Breaking news from the Boll Bureau – a rich Antipodean called Gareth Morgan, with a moustache like a feral weasel, is campaigning for the total eradication of cats from New Zealand.
According to his website catstogo ‘That little ball of fluff you own is a serial killer.’ Boll’s preparing her libel case as I write.
Admittedly, he’s not calling for a kitty cull. He’s simply suggesting that all Kiwi cats should be neutered and that no new ones should be allowed citizenship.
But he’s missing the point. Not all cats are killers. Bolly’s mostly an indoor cat. She does go for walks in the garden, but only in the daytime and only supervised by me or a cat-sitter. And so I can honestly say she’s never killed a bird.
There’s still a romantic myth here in Europe that cats should be allowed to roam anywhere, anytime, at any price. But I disagree. Would you let a toddler roam unsupervised, wander across roads by itself and stray out alone at night?
Boll’s considerably less streetwise than your average child, so she stays safely within the garden walls. And she seems perfectly happy.
So there is a compromise. Kiwis keep your cats indoors, and life will be a box of budgies.*
*nice (New Zealand slang)

I Love My Cat “Beyonc

I saw a mug today with a heart symbol on it and the words – I Love My Cat “Beyonc

Mangalitza Pigs

Is it a sheep? Is it a pig? Yes – it’s a pig that looks like a sheep … a Mangalitza Pig. Aren’t they adorable? I want one.

Boris Johnson lookalike competition

I Am Not Fleece-ist

Please note that, despite living in Hertford, I possess no fewer than three fleeces. And some of my best friends wear fleeces. Well, my animal friends – horses, dogs, cats, wombats, Shetland ponies and so on.

Not a Fleece Town

‘Hertford’s just not a fleece town,’ insisted the shop manager to someone on the phone.
‘No. I don’t know why. It’s just not a fleece sort of place. We can’t shift the fleeces. No. I’ve no idea why. It’s just not a fleece town.’
He was starting to look agitated.
I’m not sure what a fleece town is, but I tend to agree Hertford isn’t one. Ware perhaps. But not Hertford.
I even did some research and did a fleece count on the way to Waitrose. Not a single fleece. Apart from the pink one worn by a Chihuahua outside Serendipity.


Boll and I would like to thank our friend Mila for making this wondrous snow cat, which bears more than a passing resemblance to Madame Bollinger herself.

From Chunk to Hunk

My laptop’s gone berserk. At least the typing part of it. Basically, it keeps lifting bits of text and dropping them randomly in other places while I’m writing.
I wrote an email today to warn a relatively important person that I’m possibly ‘away for a large chunk of February’.
Perfectly innocent. But my laptop decided to grab the second half and put it after my signature. The result –
Ian Peacock
hunk of February

I sent it. I then sent an explanation. I haven’t heard back.

Gritty Urban Hertford

Boll and I are back after a month up north. We’ve missed the gritty, urban streets of Hertford. So we bought the Herts Mercury to catch up on the buzz.
This week’s front-page top story says it all –
Crufts-bound Shih Tzu shaved during ex’s outburst – prized pooch loses hair during domestic
Almost as terrifying as Page 9 shocker –
Ware man given fine totalling £103.50 after stealing sandwich in Hoddesdon