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Cat booby-trapped the staircase last night, throwing up on both the top and bottom steps in the dark and waiting for me to stand in either or both with my bare feet.

Of course, I spoilt her fun by sleeping right through - I feel exhausted at the moment - and narrowly missing them when I got up, in spite of my foggy head. She spent from then until I went out to work peering around doorway corners waiting for me to get messy toes so was no doubt disappointed that I scooped them into the dustpan and deposited them in the bin.

By my reckoing, she must do this at least twice every week, or at least she does when I’m here looking after her. Extrapolate that through her life so far and that’s almost 1,000 times.

Poor thing.

Anyhow, after yesterday morning’s disastrous journey to the station I decided to drive out of town and approach from a different direction, which cut the journey time by about three quarters and got me to my first briefing on time.

Gordon was there, which was a nice surprise, so two hours later, as it drew to a close, we wandered back into Soho and I shouted him lunch at San Marco so we could sit and chat and catch up. We both had loads of news for each other and in a bizarre coincidence producer James, who used to work on the other side of the glass when we presented The Lab together, walked past the window speaking on his mobile. Just like old times.

Pilates this evening. They switched off the air-con, which made for a sticky class, but at least it was quiet. I could feel it doing some good… I think. Or perhaps I was just doing it wrong and it was hurting. Either way, it was a gym trip, so it can’t be bad.

Home to eat a kilo of stilton and undo all the good.

Actually, perhaps not quite that much.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 3rd, 2003 at 10:53 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.