Sep 26, 2020: Roll With It

The country is dabbling on the periphery of another lockdown scenario – albeit a much shorter timescale than the months of home activities earlier in the year. We’re on stricter Covid prevention protocols at the moment, but as ever there are people who are just ignoring this because it’s all horseshit and flim flam or – my favourite – that it’s part of a Government plan to see how the country would behave if they imposed some sort of curfew or behavioural protocol.

Which, if anything, gives the Government of anywhere, let alone the shit show here, a lot more credit than it deserves.

But because of this, we are – once more – at a point where some absolute twat (and probably one who doesn’t even bother wearing a mask in the first place) is stockpiling all the toilet rolls.

It’s funny, because it always used to be a thing that you’d imagine what you would do in a scenario in which, say, a virus ravaged the country. How would you react? What would you do? Where would you go? All those things. It’s usually how you’d survive a zombie apocalypse. And everyone always gives such macho bullshit answers about how they’d fabricate weapons and build fortresses and whatever else.

In reality, they’d just go to the supermarket and stock up on bog roll.

But, curiously, never the quilted stuff.

Which makes one wonder, who the fuck buys and/or uses quilted toilet paper? Who doesn’t like the feel of their own bumhole so much that they insist on thicker paper to increase the finger to hole ratio?

No-one. That’s who.

And yet it’s out there.

And when someone normal orders a packet of toilet roll, but all the fuckwits have bought it all, what’s left?

Quilted.

For fuck’s sake.

Luckily, it’s getting more autumnal now. So I might just grab a few handfuls of leaves on the way home from work and use them.

Save the quilted stuff for a real emergency…

Sep 25, 2020: Really?

I did a survey for Xbox this morning. Nothing fancy, nothing exclusive. Just a survey because I said, “hey, I’ll do surveys” on a thing one time, and so I get them from time to time. Quite a lot of that time I have been too slow in responding and not been able to take part, but for the last couple – thanks, in no small part, to the lockdown world – I’ve been able to hop on in and give my thoughts. Particularly in the spaces where I can type things – I really enjoy those!

I did one for Battletoads not so long ago, and today’s one was about the really quite excellent game Tell Me Why which I enjoyed so much that I played through episode one, made a decision I regretted almost immediately after making it and stopped playing (for now) reasoning that I’d wait for all three parts and a time when I could play the whole thing through. And that I could start again and not make that same decision.

But anyway, that was the survey.

Did I like the game? Yes. Did I like the characters? Yes. Could I write a bit about each character if I was asked to? Yes. Was it a good game? Yes. You know, all the usual stuff. Were the graphics nice? Did it play well? All that shizz that I would have written in a Ready Up review in the olden days, but in survey form.

The survey ends with a section – 15% of the questions, technically – about the state of gaming in general with regards to the LGBTQIA community.

It asks, for starters, whether or not you think the LGBTQIA community should be included in games. To which the answer is obviously yes because why the frick shouldn’t they be included in games?

Which becomes clear as you get to the next bit – and it’s a bit of the survey which, if anything, paints the gaming community in a shitty light. Which, in a way, is fair because there are a huge portion of gamers who are absolute fucking arseholes. There are also a decent bunch of us that are nice. But we make a lot less noise, I think,

Anyway, the questions are whether or not you’re comfortable with a variety of LGBTQIA-centric things – a picture, say, on a desk in a game showing a same-sex wedding or same sex characters holding hands.

Or if you’d be okay playing online with someone who was LGBTQIA.

There’s not, I assume, a different survey asking members of the LGBTQIA community if they’re okay playing online with a bigoted arsehole…

I mean having said that, one of Carole’s relatives is insanely racist and once refused to play a game of Kinect Sports golf because the computer had randomly chosen a black character for him. So I guess people like that do exist.

But still…

It’s 2020.

We’re supposed to be better than this…

Sep 24, 2020: Caught On Camera

It’s not until you’re filming a cat trying to get through the cat flap at night that you realise how freaky-deaky their eyes actually are.

On the recording I made they’re about the only feature you can really make out, glinting in the light (only slightly less bright than the reflectors on the back of Carole’s trainers) and bristling with intelligence and, probably, evil.

I might have projected that last bit. But it could be the case.

It came knocking at the flap the other night, and I was in a position where I could just point my phone towards the cat flap with minimal movement and capture its attempts at ingress. It’s a persistent little bugger – I guess buoyed by the fact that it made it inside the other night.

But that seems, at face value, to have been a fluke.

There’s no evidence it’s got the technique down at all, and we’ve been taking Peppa’s food away at night in an attempt to discourage the little sod as well – if there’s nothing here when it gets here (not even a delicious egg muffin) then hopefully it’ll get the message and just stop coming round.

But apparently that time is not yet now. It’s just going to pay us a visit and rattle the cat flap like a shit ghost for the foreseeable future. It’s been around tonight, rattling everything. It’ll probably appear tomorrow as well.

But it won’t get in.

Well, it might. I don’t know. But hopefully it won’t.

Sep 23, 2020: Clever Girl

Or boy.

Whichever.

The little fucker managed to get in.

Well, that’s what we assume because the bin bag we had on the go in the kitchen has been shredded for whatever goodies were inside. Which was, primarily, a disappointing blend of scrunched up kitchen roll, foil yogurt lids and the ends of a leek. Not even the good bit of a leek.

But anyway, that’s the sign that we have been invaded. Unless Peppa has just taken it upon herself to go mental and shred things that are waiting to go out to the bin at a more civil hour.

Carole worried, briefly, that it may be a rat. Because there’s a house down the road which is inundated with them, apparently. They live under the decking of this particular house, by all accounts (which is to say just one account from our neighbour) and drive the dogs mad. But also dine merrily on the copious amounts of dog shit in that self same garden.

It’s not a rat.

It it was, it’d be a rat carried through the house and displayed for us to enjoy by a small black and white cat.

No, it’s definitely the interloper, interloping once more.

I’m not sure what else we can do to keep this thing at bay. We can’t get one of those catflaps with an RFID chip collar because Peppa removes collars for sport. I think we all remember the endless hours of joy trying to put her cone back on after she’d been fixed by the vets because, no matter how tightly it was affixed, she found a way to get it off. It’s not even worth it. She’d whip the collar off somewhere outside, then we’d have to open the door for her and in the meantime this bloody interloping cat would find the collar and just stroll along and leave it by the flap so that it was always open.

And then rob us blind.

I think we need to remove all temptation from the kitchen.

All the cat food. Any bin bags or other eatable containers. We can leave anything out on the worktops (see the tale of Carole’s vanishing egg muffin for proof of that). We’re going to have a clear desk policy in the kitchen from now on. We need to make it as unappealing as is humanly possible to this little feline gitbiscuit.

Sep 22, 2020: Testing The Fences

That’s exactly what it was like.

It was just like the raptors throwing themselves at the electrified fences in Jurassic Park.

We’ve just had a good couple of minutes of activity at the cat flap. And when I say we, I mean Peppa and myself. We’re both here, inside. Peppa’s curled up happily beside me on the couch but a couple of minutes ago she was up and alert listening, as was I, to the sounds coming from the kitchen door.

It’s the bloody cat.

It’s been a week or so since I implemented the one-way system with cunning Peppa opening device on the cat flap and we’ve lived an interloper free existence. I’ve not heard or seen anything of the elusive feline criminal. But tonight it’s back, and it’s testing the fences.

It’s been playing with the cat flap. Worryingly so, I would say. It didn’t sound like the sound of a cat just bashing into it like a fricking idiot. It sounded methodical and probing. Like it was looking for a weak spot.

I didn’t see the flap move, though. And I did get up to investigate while the sounds were sounding. I didn’t see it move. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t even see the offending cat through the perspex flap, as though it was off to one side, sizing up the door and how the flap fits within it.

But it was definitely there. Or something was there. Or nothing was there and it is a fricking ghost. It’s one of those three options. Definitely one of them. I don’t know which, though. Well, I do. It was there. Just out of sight to me at that time, but still within a good paw’s reach of the flap in question.

I don’t like it. I don’t like that it’s doing this. It’s like it’s learning. I don’t want to have to bust out the other lines about the raptors in Jurassic Park…