Sweetheart.

I will spit in the eye of the next person who calls me this.  I hear your shock, your question, "why the rather extreme reaction to this innocuous little pet-name, you raving lunatic?" Well, I will answer you - where you see a harmless term of endearment, I see a lasso thrown to entangle one's feet and bring one to the ground, vulnerable and easily manipulated. 

I live on a quiet street, mostly populated by friends, teachers, university lecturers, old people and children who play in the street, waving to me whenever I pass by in one of my frequent strolls. This peace has become fractured by some young men in silly white Holden utes who have taken residence in a silly blue house.  Initially, their little escapades seemed humorous, instances to feel deliciously scandalised over, "P, you will never guess..." I have oft said, "...those guys from down the street nearly ran me over today as they careened around the corner, slowed down to wolf whistle and then burned rubber up their driveway! (Yes, this is exactly how I speak in real life) How very rude, how very exciting! *giggle, giggle, giggle*".

If this had remained the level of intrusion then I would certainly not be on my soap box now, but alas, without my encouragement, this behaviour has escalated and is now threatening to break the bones of this little community.  Recently, I was walking past this silly blue house when I had the misfortune to actually find myself in a one sided conversation with these buffoons, "Hey sweetie!" He hollers, "we live here, come visit whenever you like." I remain mute and unresponsive.  Sweetie - only ladies in shops call be that and so this seemed rather curious, funny even.  I did not perceive the danger then.

Today, I am making my way down the street, thinking deeply about the Vietnam War and therefore without my armourment of smart arse witticisms, when I hear the approach of a car.  I make my way to the left sidewalk, not taking my eyes off the road in front of me, nor my mind from the jungles of northern Indo-China.  I continue on for a meter, mayhaps two, when I realise the hum of the car's engine is still behind me.  I whip my head around (crowned with a brilliant new haircut - utterly irrelevant but it makes me happy) where I see a tattooed elbow hanging from the low window of a silly white Holden ute.  My gaze flits to the head belonging to said elbow and finds the mirrored stare of a pair of Oakley sunglasses.  "How you doin' sweetheart?" I smile before I can stop myself. I stammer, "well thank you" and I kick myself internally, damn my knee jerk good manners.  I try to salvage the situation, ignore them bluntly. They drive off around the next corner and wait for me by the entrance of their driveway.  I round the corner and they spot me in their rear mirror, I can now be regaled by their screaming tyres as they speed up to their house.  They have barely climbed out of that silly white Holden ute when one of them lights a firecracker that rips the cheerful birdsong with its loud BAM PEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!  Neighbours come pouring out of their front doors and witness the climbing red light and the smoke trail.  They click their tongues, shake their heads and roll their eyes. 

The saga continues.  My pride forbids my return, I will finish my walk.  "How ya going sweetie? You should come over sweetheart.  You know sweetie, when you are walking by and you are feeling dry, come up for (the rhyming falters but I guess it was a good effort) a beer sweetie." "No thank you," I say, "frick" I think.  "You won't forget sweetheart, you can come over whenever."

Bastard!!!!!! I doubt that these men would have sat down to explicitly plot this line of action but they have exhibited an aptitude for belittlement.  With one, lovely little word they can so diminish a person so that they forget their equal standing.  'Sweetheart' denotes affection and affirmation, a brilliant disguise for the stealthy intention to control another for self seeking pleasure. Well, I declare myself immune.  This will no longer work on me. So they can keep their 'sweeties' and their 'sweethearts' and if they are not careful I will also tell them where to keep it.

S.

Stickin it to the Man

Sometimes I think I am an absolute genius. Today is one of those days. I am going to start a cultural revolution and it all began with snow day. We've all seen on the movies when kids in America get the day off school because the snow is so amazing that it would be cruel to keep them from playing in it...or maybe it's because the roads are clogged with snow, frozen over and it would be too dangerous to drive, I can't quite recall. Here in Australia we should start something similar. As we all know spring is here and the warmer weather is slowing creeping its way back in. In the past few weeks there have been a couple of days which are absolutely perfect for going to the beach. I have been working on every single one of them for the entire day and it is very depressing. On my way to work I sometimes go past the beach and it's perfect for snorkelling!  If days like this come up we should shut all the shops and schools and head down to the beach. If someone wants to be strolling around the shops instead of swimming, tough luck you are obviously insane.

I don't mean every sunny day, we shall put guidelines in place. The temperature must be over 25 degrees, there must not be a single cloud in the sky, the sun must be blazing and there must not be a breath of wind. This should ensure flat, crystal clear water sparkling in the sun. It's really criminal to keep people inside on a day like that.

The only problem I have is coming up with a name for one of these days. Fun day? Nope, ridiculous. Sun day? Already taken. Beach day? Maybe.

Rebel Without a Cause

Is anyone else frustrated with the amount of rules we have in society? I don't just mean rules like stay to the left hand side of the road or don't marry your sibling. Those rules are fine and I am very happy to abide by them. I just feel in other areas of life there are SO many rules and it's hard to keep track of them all.

Don't go swimming for at least half an hour after eating. If you in the sun you need to reapply sunscreen every 2 hours, if your in the water it's every half an hour. Look left and right before crossing the road but don't run across you have to walk. Don't feed or pet the animals. Don't wash your face with normal soap you have to use a special face cleanser. Don't brush your hair when it's wet. Don't be single if you don't have a legitimate reason, if your young and single we will assume there is something wrong with you. The customer is always right. Wash new clothes before you wear them. Don't wash jeans after wearing them the one time, you should get at least 5 wears out of them. Sleep for at least 6 hours a night but no more than 9. If you are in a library, at a funeral or at a posh boutique you can only speak in hushed tones or a whisper. Brides wear white, long dresses and have between 2 and 4 bridesmaids. Don't feed your pets chocolate because they will get cancer and die.

That's just getting started! There are so many rules it does my head in! I can't remember them all. I can't even remember my 7 times table. They don't even matter, the rules that is (although I question the necessity of the seven times table.......and the eights. I mean honestly when do you need to know multiples of 7s or 8s and 6s for that matter).

I've had enough of these ridiculous rules and I'm here today to say that I brush my hair when it's wet, use hand soap to wash my face, feed the cat AND dog chocolate and sometimes I run across the road. So come on, who's with me? Lets rebel against the ridiculous restraints our society places upon us! Let's do what we wanna do be who we wanna be YEAH!

It's the little things that count

The invention/discovery of things like electricity and telephones are quite well known but to tell you the truth there are other inventions/discoveries that I am more interested in. Don't get me wrong Ben and Alex I really appreciate the work that you put in, my life is a lot more convenient because of you but I'm just more fascinated with trivial things.

What I really want to know is things like who on earth discovered that if you separate egg whites from the yolk and whisk it it creates a substance that can be used in so many different ways. Who does that!? Also who discovered cheese and yogurt? Were people just playing around with their food? They are quite complex processes so it doesn't seem like something you could easily stumble across. Did they understand the science behind it before they did it? Did they know what was going to happen?

Who? What? When? Why? How? These are the questions that keep me awake at night. I want to know the personal story behind these discoveries. Did their friends and families hail them as heroes or laugh at them?

Who invented egg cartons? They are genius! Who came up with the idea of the council taking all our rubbish or a lollipop person to ensure child safety while crossing the road?

Pants on Fire!!!

I am always very offended by people who tell me they love parsnip. Do I look that dumb to you? No one likes parsnip! You are an absolute liar! Why have you spent hours slaving in a hot kitchen to create a wonderful roast with gorgeous, tasty vegies only to ruin it all with the freaky albino version of the carrot? Carrots are great raw or cooked just add more of those in. I was really looking forward to this dinner and now you've gone and spoiled my whole day with your stupid excuse for a root vegetable. They are not even edible. I think it's false advertising to put them in the fruit and veg section. They taste revolting and you feel like you're gnawing on a green sapling.

Don't lie to me! I know you don't really like them because nobody could! You're just trying to make me feel guilty for not loving all vegetables but I will not be fooled by your ruse. Begone I say! You and your pathetic excuse for food can go back to the pit from whence you came!


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Ode To The Lost

Now that I have written the title I realise that I am currently at a loss as to what conventions constitute an ode, in fact the following post it totally void of any recognised poetic meter, rhythym or rhyme, so really I am just having a whinge. Enjoy.

Just to clarify about the title- although this is not an ode, it is still to The Lost.

Setting: The Couch of a good friend of P's and mine. 
A couch that has been frequented whenever in need of a good cathartic experience.

We only just met - I think that is the nail that shoots the sharpest pain in the chest. This is too soon, this separation is far too soon. I didn't like you at first. My taste is simplicity, easy and here you come shouldering into my life with all your complexities. You never seemed to respond the same way twice.  There were days that I wanted to scratch out your eyes, throw you against the wall, break your face.  I am so use to be the person with the power, the one in control, and then you manage to push all my buttons.

Then it changed. I can't say when or how exactly, but I realise now that I loved you. I never told you.  I miss you,  your form, the way you feel in my hands, your smooth cherry black complexion.  You helped me when I was lost - what am I supposed to do now when I don't remember my way home? You kept me organised, with you gently waking me every morning I was never late for anything.  I loved spending Sunday mornings in bed with you - just laying there for hours, listening to music.

Now, so suddenly, you're gone. Dead.
Dead in the toilet, and nothing can resurrect you. Not even two days in a bag of rice. I can't replace you, my
Nokia E97.

I feel like crying.

Confessions Part II

"These are my confessions"- Usher

I would like to publicly confess to a murder that I committed a few months ago. )Well technically it wasn't a murder as it was an accident but I can't call it manslaughter either because I killed a seagull not a man.) The incident took place before the slaying of the mouse referred to in our first blog and has been weighing on my conscience for quite some time.

I was late for work in the morning and so my driving was slightly erratic. I was going a little over the speed limit as I passed a school and up ahead was a small group of seagulls. I didn't bother slowing down because as I mentioned I was running a little behind time and birds always seem to move out of the way in time. Well this time one was not quick enough. I felt a thump on the front of my car and as glanced back in the rear view mirror I saw a puff of feathers and a small white lump lying on the road. That's not the worst part though.

I had hit the bird directly over a children's crossing. There were primary school students standing beside the road waiting to cross. I had killed this bird a metre or two away from these kids. I have probably scarred them for life.

Signed: The Animal Murderer P

Are you even listening to me?

Boys vs Girls Session 1

Topic: Communication

Lecturer: Esteemed P

I'd like to start off this lecture by directing your attention to the topic: Boys vs Girls. I do not wish to mislead anyone. These series of lectures are not about who is better, boys or girls, but rather on the differences between the two sexes. However, I have entitled it as I have, because I know that everything in life is a competition. I will try to remain unbiased but it will be difficult as I have, since birth, been aware of the universal truth that boys suck and girls rule

A male peer of mine commented on something a few weeks ago that I have been pondering ever since. He, being a male and older than me, decided to impart what he obviously thought was a great pearl of wisdom. (Thanks buddy but I've really got on quite fine until now without your 'astute' observations into the female psyche. I am, after all, a girl and have been for the past 22 years so you would think I would have some idea of what's going on.) I appreciated that he cared enough about me to instruct and guide me, become a mentor if you will, but I was not %100 about this particular piece of advice. He said that sometimes girls don't want you to help them with their problems but rather, that they just want someone to listen to them. I would disagree slightly with that and say sometimes, as a girl, I don't even care if you are listening or not. I just need someone there so I don't look like a rambling lunatic having a conversation with myself. I don't need any response from you at all, I just need you to sit there so that if someone passes by they will think I'm conversing with you.

I must apologise if this is a rude shock to anyone. It is not true in all circumstances and I'm certain nobody else would be so terribly inconsiderate. Now class, any questions or comments? I'm not yet a mother or a wife so I know that I'm not yet Always Right.

A letter to one of the seasons

Dear Summer,

how are you? It's been a while since we've seen you here and we miss you very much. I was wondering if maybe you could please hurry up and come back? It's so much fun when you are here: snorkeling, swimming, camping, Christmas, BBQs, street parties and road trips. You know I adore Winter and everything he has to offer but please return.

The thing is I know you and Spring are pretty close and you say you don't go anywhere without here but I really really can't stand her. The number one reason being that she always gives my hayfever! There's no use talking to her about it because I have asked her time and time again not to but she never listens. She's so fickle as well. She starts off with balmy sunny days and then all of a sudden will drop a cold, rainy day in there. Her indecisiveness is so irritating. So if maybe you could sneak away and leave her in the Northern Hemisphere that'd be great.

Look forward to hearing from you soon!

yours affectionately

P

P.S. Please don't tell Spring about this you know how sensitive she is!

JB

We're not sure if you have noticed but there are many famous men with the initials J.B.

James Bond

Jim Beam

Justin Bieber

James Brayshaw

Our favourite however is none of the above. Our JB may not be as smooth as Jim Beam, may not be able to sing as well as Justin Bieber and may not have a license to kill but to us he surpasses them all. He is tall, dark and handsome with a voice that is rich and deep like a comforting hug from mum. Although he does not enjoy games, of any sort, he certainly is ballin'.

We had the great privilege of spending the morning with this charming fellow. Breakfast would normally be just another meal but with our JB it is an adventure. We ran through the rain, fried up a large breakfast to the tortured strains of the ukulele and then feasted on our bounty whilst our hearts soared with The Evolution of the Spice Girls ZIGAZIG AHHHHH!!!!!

He is debonair, dashing and a little bit dorky and we love him to pieces. He has gone to America with TimTams, snakes and our hearts.

Good luck JB!!!!!

Op-shop gold

So I just did a little research and the 3 guys mentioned down the bottom were real bullfighters in Spain in the 60s. The writing on the cup says that there at the Madrid Bullring on Friday the 20th of May 1966 there was a special bullfight with 6 beautiful and brave bulls. Not too shabby a purchase for $1.99

Nature fails yet again

Setting: toasty warm kitchen of the Dollhouse on a cold wintry night

Cast: a lonely and melancholy P

S has gone for a few days and I although she left only a few hours ago I am starting to feel quite alone and my thoughts are turning quite bitter and depressing. Have you ever been let down by someone or a situation that promises to be so exciting and then falls short of its asseverations? I have this week. I have been heartbroken and destitute and sorely disappointed but let me start at the start of my tale of woe.

I was given an ant circus (similar to an ant farm) for my birthday a few weeks ago. I had mixed feelings about this. As a child your main foes in nature are seagulls, ants, snails and bees. Every child knows that seagulls must be chased, bees must be avoided at all costs and ants and snails must squashed. I don't know how children acquire this knowledge I think they might be born with it. With the acquisition of the ant farm I was faced with a dilemma: do I tend for and nurture for a species I have been at odds with for so many years or do I throw away a thoughtfully purchased birthday present. I decided as I am no longer a child it is time to throw childish ideas away and so I would create the greatest ant circus in the southern hemisphere. I was also excited about the prospect of waking up every morning and coming out to see new tunnels and caverns made in the layers of soil I carefully collected.

Ok so I didn't carefully collect it I just chucked some dirt in. I didn't have any of the food the book recommended like carrots, raw meat or vitamins so I put in some stale chocolate biscuits and orange marmalade. Each day I checked on the ants but there was nothing happening, in fact everytime I looked there were less ants. Now a week later there are none! I think they are all dead! Why does this happen to me? First the spiders and now the ants. I will never trust anything or anyone ever again. Maybe it was my fault because I didn't provide the correct cuisine but nobody's perfect. I thought ants were supposed to be hardy creatures, well obviously they are not. I got no joy out of this enterprise whatsoever. I am very upset and angry and I'm sorry for my grammar and punctuation mistakes in this post but at this point I'm starting to wonder if anything even matters anymore

Sydney Gets A Dash of S & P

For this blog S & P would like to take you on a journey across the sunburnt country, an excursion if you will, to see the fabulous sights of Ole Sydney Town.

Being ridiculously lucky we won a weekend in Sydney and tickets to a red carpet movie premeire for 2, all expenses paid for. A fact we felt everyone we knew (or even didn't know) should be informed of. A task we took to with the greatest enthusiasm.

Sydney has a reputation as being very multicultural and to this we can attest as our first experience was being driven to the hotel by a taxi driver with a thick accent. As practiced linguists we accertained that English was his second language and he came from the southern regions of Macedonia some 10 or 15 years ago. As an immigrant one would think he would understand what it is like to be mariginalised yet this did not stop him from roundly critiquing the inhabitants of Redfern.

One criticism of Sydney we had is that streets in Sydney go around corners. It is ridiculous! You get given the name of a street and walk up and down for half an hour in high heels on a bitterly cold night only to discover that the street that dissects is the same street that is being dissected. A pox on George Street!!! Seriously who designed Sydney CBD? ADD children? Which brings us to the second criticism of Sydney: children. More specifically children at the Taronga zoo. More specifically children watching the penguin keeper talk on Saturday afternoon. This one child pushed and shoved P, talked loudly during the presentation and pushed and kicked S. He soon desisted after the Swift Foot of Justice was rightfully administered by S.

We did love Sydney to bits. Great food, shopping, coffee, ferries, markets, patisseries, street performers, pubs, cultural features and the world's most exciting hand dryers in the public toilets at Circular Quay.

Arachnophobia

Setting: the study, late at night, cold and wet outside but oh so comfy and warm in here

Cast: P (S being busy with study in the kitchen)

I must apologise for my absence on the last entry. Unfortunately I was doing just about the most un-bohemian thing ever- working. Also I will be apologising for any spelling or grammatical errors in this blog, on a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being the most tired you've ever been and 1 being on crack) I am on a solid 9.

I was just about to write about how The Lion King still gives me goosebumps and how upset I still get in the stampede scene when I remembered there are more pressing matters.

Spiders

So a few months ago I declared an all out war on the Araneae family and I'm here to tell you that I think I may have made a grave mistake and taken on more than I can handle.

Growing up I always had great respect for spiders, most of them are small and not harmful to me and they keep a lid on the ever climbing irritating insect problem. I was OK if the spiders kept to their space and me to mine. However a few months ago I began to find them in my room and in the bathroom on a regular basis. I was a little unsettled by this and didn't understand why they were disrupting the delicate harmony of our relationship. The last straw came when I found one on my towel.....................ON MY TOWEL!!!! Why would it be there other than to bite me on the bum so I would have to go the doctors with an embarrassing problem? I decided not to think about the wife and children this spider had at home and killed him on the spot.

This was war. What was I meant to do? Sit in silence? Live in fear? No Farnham and my conscience would not let it be so. I had to fight back and so I did. If only I knew then what I knew now. If only I knew what I would unleash upon myself. I thought it would be all over by Christmas yet it drags on.

I moved in with S and kept finding spiders in my room. I was really unsettled, they were obviously living in my cupboard but what could I do? I'd lived a life of peace until now, I had no experience in warfare. I thought it couldn't get any worse but I couldn't be more wrong. I bought a dress from a shop we shall call Gangsta-mart and didn't have time to wash it before I wore it. The next day the back of my thigh was incredibly itchy, I went to S and asked her if she could see anything. Her horrified reaction caused me to rush to the nearest mirror to see for myself. The sight was terrible. There was a huge red lump about the size of my hand with 2 tiny puncture marks in the centre.

Sidenote: if Peter Parker got bitten by a radioactive spider and turned into Spiderman what effect would a Chinese factory spider have on me?

What do I do now? This is so much more than I anticipated. There is a big spider that lives on Surene's car and he only comes out at night. I've decided to try and make peace and I think Jack is the spider for the job. I chat to him when I take the rubbish out or come home from a late night out. Hopefully he will spread the message of goodwill

How to Bake a Pumpkin Scone Loaf

One episode from the domestic life of a modern young woman...

Setting: The eve of S's birthday bash.
The kitchen, bench top full of ingredients promising culinary masterpieces to awe guests for said upcoming event.

Cast: S (as P is elsewhere - not exactly sure where, but probably indulging in something thoroughly bohemian.)


Now viewers, it is my recomendation to do a little research before commencing any kitchen caper if one is intending others to partake in the fruits of one's labour. Not afraid to take a dose of my own medicine, I have found a recipe for pumpkin scones and proceeded to do just as I pleased, believing that creativity is as vital ingredient as any. Here follows the recipe with my annotations to help you in your quest for the perfect loaf:

Ingredients:

You will need to cook about 250g of pumpkin for this recipe.

Never use a scale to measure anything, resting assured in one's keen eye to judge mass or weight or whatever the correct scientific term may be.

• 40g butter
• 1/4 cup of caster sugar
• 1 egg
• 3/4 cup of cooked mashed pumpkin

Note the ambiguity of this instruction, therefore cook pumpkin anyway one pleases. I opted for a lightly roasted pumpkin, slicing the unasuming vegetable into small irregular shapes, collating them in a ceramic baking tray and seasoning them with salt and pepper, nutmeg, some lovely olive oil and a generous amount of delicately flavoured honey. Into an oven heated at 180 degrees C for 15 to 20 minutes.

• 2 1/2 cups self-raising flour
• 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg

Now come to the realisaion that one has already added nutmeg to the pumpkin, as well as oil and perhaps that may affect the amount of butter and since salt was also added it may be wise to use usalted butter instead. The solution: Use half unsalted butter and half of the regular sort to what one would consider (using one's keen eye) as less than 40g but more than 20g. As to the nutmeg, close one's eyes, shake the jar and let the earthy granules fall where it may.

• 1/3 cup milk, approximately

Serving size: Makes about 16 (or one small loaf)

Introduction

These scones were made famous in the 70's by Flo Bjelke-Petersen, wife of an Australian State Premier. As taken from the Women's Weekly cookery series, Old Fashion Favourites.

This loaf is well on its way to infamy, created by S who is the wife of nobody but has oft been informed that one day she will make a man very proud. This is usually received with a grimace and a sarcastic 'thankyou'. It is futher her hope that what here follows will alay any persistent misaprehension of S's matrimonial suitability.

Method

1. Lightly grease two 20cm round sandwich pans.

I ask one - what is a sandwich pan? Well this can not be of dire consequence so prepare what ever oven tray that strikes your fancy.

2. Beat butter and sugar in a small bowl with electric mixer until light and fluffy; gradually beat in egg.

3. Stir in pumpkin, then sifted dry ingredients and enough milk to make a soft sticky dough. Turn dough onto floured surface,knead lightly until smooth.

With happy abandon add the dash of milk. The happines is abruptly curbed as one realises that perhaps that dash of milk was a little too joyous and also a little too excessive. Never mind, add some more flour and knead. There, now it is getting somewhere - raise one's hopes like the flag of a triumphant company of waring men, marching home from the their foreign conquests.

This lasts but a moment as futher kneading is still not resulting in 'soft sticky dough'. Well it is soft and certainly is sticky, but to everythng but itself. Using one's dough covered hand, thrust some more flour on the offending mixture. Knead, still it falls short of expectation. Repeat until it becomes undeniably clear that this will never be those lovely round scones one so naively dreampt of but 20 minutes ago.

Now give oneself to the throws of despair. Take dough and raise high above one's head. Then, summoning all of ones frustration, disillunsionment and anger, dash that thing upon the unforgiving hard surface of one's benchtop. Ensure that dough is splatterd on the surrounding kitchen landscape, including one's hair, face and clothing. Beat remaining dough, two fisted until the pain in one's knuckles begin to eclipse the sorrow of one's soul.

Stop and assess the horror of defeat, marinade in the resulting anguish. Forsake the will to go on, let one's knees grow weak and slowly descend to the kitchen floor. Remain there for about 5 minutes or until one feels oneself becoming slightly chilled. At this point reality should begin to reamerge as one begins to imagine how this scene may strike an innocent bystander - they may think the domestic carnage a little melodramatic, perhaps even vaguely humourous.

Stand, and come to the conclusion that to add the dough to the failed cupcakes already in the bin would be an injury too many to one's frugal nature. Gather all salvageable dough and snigger at the cruelty insinuated by the following instruction.

4. Press dough out to about 2cm thickness, cut 5cm rounds form dough. Place rounds, just touching, in prepeared pans. Brush tops with a little milk.

Instead, line small bread tin with baking paper, wrecklessly dump dough on baking paper, and shove into hot oven for however long it takes to bake through.

5. Bake scones in a very hot oven for about 15mins.

Smile serenly as one's housemates/family members return to this bastion of domestic bliss.

S.

Entree

We would like to start this blog with an anecdote which will illustrate the natures of the authors of the blog of which you are the reader (this is the affore mentioned ridiculousness).

Character List

S: struggling writer and housemate to P
P: overambitious ukulele player and housemate to S
Casper: man of the house, S's cat

Scene: the house, early morning

P is awoken by S's cries of "No Casper no! Put it down, don't touch it!" The cries are coming from S's boho boudoir. She (P that is) launches herself out of bed and stumbles around the corner struggling to emerge from the haze of slumber. She (P again) is accosted by the sight of S standing on her bed all a'tremble, her pointed finger drawing P's gaze downward to witness a murder interrupted. Casper had trapped, under his paw, a small and frightened mouse. The cat was quickly shooed away from it's vulnerable prey and that's when the full extent of this woeful situation was revealed. The delicate rodent's hind quarters were paralysed and it was so weak from exhaustion it could barely lift its sweet head. Oh what to do?

Options

1. Release the mouse to the wild
2. Call a man
3. Take it to the vet
4. Allow natural predation to take its course
5. Put mouse out of misery

Number 1 is really no option as the mouse would be in severe pain for goodness knows how long and we cannot have that on our conscience. Number 2 also no option as any men we knew were away, working (as a real man should always be) or not up to the task. Number 3. Are you freaking serious? We are university students who can barely afford to eat (which suggests the possibility of a 6th option). Number 4 is also out of the question because whilst the cat is under our roof it will not torture any living creature. Leaving Number 5.........

This brings up a whole new set of problems: how to commit a murder humanely. Phonecalls were made and suggestions were tabulated but many of them were not suitable. For example to strangle a mouse would require a firm grip of the little body of which we were about to deprive life. This would change us irrevocably and not for the better. Beheading it meant sullying a kitchen knife and would need a keen aim. Squashing, elicited a certain scene from In Bruges (told you we were uni students) and this is not pleasant (although it is a great movie and we highly recommend it). We were left with only one option: to hang by the neck until dead. Unfortunately S was late for a staff meeting, leaving no time to manufacture a hangmans noose so we drowned the little bugger.

Now to all you sanctimonious naysaying blaggards who feel outraged by such a measure we say this: 'Let he who has no sin, cast the first stone'