Mutiny and neuron death

I had to pay for something in the salon at the top of the High St this morning with my debit card. By the time I'd reached the bottom of the High Street, where the bank is, a small but crucial neuron had fallen out of my ear and rolled down a drain. This was the neuron that contained my debit card pin number.

The bank have blocked it, did not smirk too much, and are issuing me with another one. Meanwhile, in the butcher's, the neuron grew back, too late to re-use my card.

Sigh. It's called age.

Back on board the good ship Home, I discovered that Capt Jones had failed to batten the hatches with sufficient efficiency and the crew had broken into the galley, dismantling crucial rations (some beans and an eggplant - but inexplicably ignoring the pancetta).

Floggings have been issued with a rolled-up copy of Vogue, and the crew confined to their quarters, apart from Cabin Boy Sidney, who as he is a cat, can't remember what happened 5 minutes ago, and does not respond to punishment.

Radio and cat

We'll be on air at 8 GMT, with an interview with Dr Kari Maund, aka la_marquise_de on women in the Celtic world.

Meanwhile the day has supplied me with a certain amount of deja vu:

5 p.m. -Sid runs past with fritillary in mouth. Rescue butterfly, which flaps off wonkily.

7.15 p.m. - Sid runs past with shrew. Alas, poor shrew. I knew him, Horatio....

7.25 - Sid runs past with expensive French sausage, like something out of a farce. Sprint after Sid, diverting T considerably, rugby tackle cat, rescue sausage.

However, karma then struck because I gave Sid the remains of the salmon we had for dinner. He hoiked a lump out of his plate to eat it in a more private location and the dog stole the rest. HAH!