Something About Haggis

You know you're 'pished' when you bump into a man wearing a kilt asking for directions late at night, notice he's bleeding profusely from the lower leg, learn that he's just been stabbed in the leg with a screwdriver by the husband of the woman he's just been shagging ... and you don't freak out.

Yes, I'm back from my long weekend in Glasgow, where I had a splendid time with 'the boys', who showed me round the pubs and nice eateries, forced me to drink way too much and left me with a bad case of furball gagging thanks to the cats who also share my pals' flat.

I'm not a cat fan by any means and while this weekend hasn't changed that, I can say I quite like those cats. Although it was only after one sleepless night that I discovered how to make Merri shut up, by tickling her tum. Otherwise, she wailed around the flat like a one-cat emergency service.

I think we bonded though. She snuggled into bed with me this morning, silently, and let me scratch behind her ears while I simultaneously read a Calvin & Hobbes compendium. I hear she's in mourning for me. Strangely, I kind of miss the noisy fur-dropper myself. Too cute.

And, like in Calvin & Hobbes, the days were just packed. I'm going back to work tomorrow for a rest.