'Panda' has come further into my life

My next door neighbours, Patrick and Karen had to move out of their flat, and as they are in temporary accomodation, asked me to look after their cat, 'Panda.' I was worried at first, because I've never had to take responsibility for anyone before. It seems to be working out so far. I bought her a collar, with a bell, and a name tag with my phone number, and I'm learning to be excited about which brand of cat food to buy her.

I can hear her now! She must be out in the street. Maybe I was mistaken as I've been out on my balcony on one side, and looked out of the front door, and I can't see her. It's like that awful advert for Aussie tourism. 'Where the bloody hell are you???!!!' I don't know where she goes. Tell a lie, she goes into other flats as she used to come into mine, and they like to see her, and feed her, and have her company. She slept on my bed last night, but at 9am I let her out, and I've not seen her for four hours.

They are not the same as dogs are they?! Dogs want your company but cats appear to take it or leave it. No! They can, or rather Panda can, be very affectionate. She likes to 'invade' my personal space, and get up to kissing distance. And if she sleeps with me all night, she does not complain about my snoring either.

I can 'touch type' so why is it so fucking difficult to hit the right keys when it's dark?

I guess that is just one of life's little mysteries? Of course, you MUST have your fingers on the 'Home' keys, otherwise you are fucked whatever the light, and your words come out like an Enigma machine.

I learnt to type on a manual typewriter in 1975/75, the only boy in a class full of girls, 'man' I should say, and 'women' as it was night school at Hardley School (now the New Forest Academy I believe?)

Maybe I should go back to manual typewriting? I make so many mistakes on my computer keyboard now, constantly going back and forth.

No going bcak (sic.)

My hangover is almost gone (but the 'I'm a dickhead' feeling remains.)

Guilt. That's my problem, or perhaps it isn't a problem, if I change for the better. Catholic guilt though, what about that? I am RC, though I never go to mass, and have never had communion, nor even been to confession.

I don't know why I felt so crook today? Until I totalled up what I'd had and where I'd been in my diary, that is

Crown Hotel:        2 schooners of Pale Ale. ($6)
Trinity:                  3 schooners of the 'B.O.M' (beer of the month, always $5.)
Royal Exhibition:  2 schooners of Coopers Pale Ale ($6.20)
Strawberry Hills:   2 schooners of Endeavour Pale Ale ($7.50)

I did not actually finish my third beer at the Trinity, alhough to counter that, I remembered that Damo gave me a bottle of Carlton Dry when I was over at Neil's earlier in the day. Which means I drank almost 10 schooners of full strength Aussie beer. 10 schooners is equivalent to about 7 1/2 pints, which I don't drink, thank God, in Australia, though some of my friends prefer them.

I could tell that I was stuffed, walking back Elizabeth Street to my flat, stumbling, uncoordinated, slurring my thoughts if not my speech,. I would usually stop at 6 or 7, so I don't know what happened last night, maybe just the urge to stay out and not go home?

Now it's almost 5pm and I feel like a beer! No! NO! NO! I'm going to have an OJ, at first anyway.

My mate Bill used to say that when he had a hangover, all he could do was sit at his table and watch the clock ticking around and around, hour up on hour, until the feeling passed. He could not eat or drink or read or watch TV, or listen to music or talk to anybody. All he wanted to do was to watch that clock, as I'm watching mine, 1657, and I'm going out at 5!