This is one cat that won’t be swung

I’ve been having the most peculiar hallucination recently. I’m a rather exquisite bowl of fruit salad, consisting primarily of apple, orange and pear, a smattering of grapes, a sprinkling of raspberries, blackberries and blueberries, and all topped off with a drizzle of Greek honey. I’m piled up high in a bowl of white Venetian porcelain decorated with blue and pink swirls, and every time someone touches me, I know they’re trying to eat me.

I need to cut down on the ‘catnip’.

My experimentation started back in the spring of 2006. Gnarls Barkley had reached Number 1 with Crazy and I had been invited to a social gathering of intellectuals, artists and general layabouts in Camden. Now us cool cats ended up in an under stairs cupboard and a spliff was being passed around. I was full of fine quality bourbon, so I wasn’t about to say no.

Six years later, I’ve lost so many weekends to the stuff, ended up on cruise liners en route to Singapore, and scratched a mime artist in the face (he had it coming). Now, I’ve stared at myself in the mirror and said this is the end. No more, this is me on the straight and narrow from henceforth.

But the plant on the windowsill is very tempting.

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