It's a hard knock life

For Jack, anyway. Look at what this poor kitten has to suffer.


He spent the next evening shredding the back of my hand, since it was tangled in a chenille throw and therefore didn't appear to be attached to Mummy. See how I'm excusing him? He spent this morning sprawled across the paper I was trying to read, kneading my arm with his claws out. Hmm. Perhaps he did know it was me under the throw.

Great excitement this afternoon as I get to go see the specialist about my labyrinthitis. I mean, I actually booked the appointment for yesterday morning, and in a different location, but what the hell, it's easy to take time off when you don't feel well enough to work in the first place, right? Plus, travelling is a breeze with an illness that makes you feel motion-sick when you're standing still. Am half expecting to be told I just have a cold (I do, but I didn't when I booked the appointment a month ago). Should this be the case, expect to hear headlines of Patient Battering Consultant To Death With His Own Anatomical Models.

In other news, I had a dream last night that I was waiting for a train to go to the RNA Winter Party, and spotted Richard Armitage on the platform. I rushed up, told him how much I adore him, and convinced him to come to the party with me. Well, hope springs.