When we first bought and moved into our flat, Ian and I were super excited by the concept of, 'hey, I don't like that hideous old fireplace, let's ditch it' and 'that wall needs painting, we can actually do it ourselves' - renting for a while kind of ingrains you with an 'oh well, we can't do anything about it' attitude, so when you can actually change something like a paint scheme without having to ask for permission, it seems like a sudden, stolen freedom. Before this move I thought it stupid that landlords didn't trust their tenants enough to paint a wall correctly or install a light fixture - of course, after buying into a flat where the previous decor had some messed up 'under the sea'/floral theme, it makes a bit more sense.

At our flatwarming, a friend who hadn't realised we'd bought the place, constantly expressed his amazement at how we had changed things - after twigging that we didn't have a crazy lenient landlord, but rather that we ARE the landlord, his head stopped threatening to explode. He immediately asked about the prospect of a pet.

We'd considered it, of course, and agreed that the garden is too small for a dog, at least, a dog that didn't make Ian think of Paris Hilton. This category includes all dogs that aren't Alsatians or Bull Terriers.

We both liked the idea of a ferret, or ferrets, but after looking into it we decided it was a bit of a difficult pet to cut our teeth on; the concept of having to de-scent them was a bit left-field, for one.

So it was really down to a cat. Good size, doesn't need a garden but would do well in a small one, a normal sort of animal that could be put in a cattery for short periods of time when we go away.

Enter the Chairman:

Neither Ian nor I had a cat growing up, not for any particular reason, and we both think of ourselves as dog people, but after only 2 days we're officially cat people too. He's sweet as hell, quirky and mad - as I write this he's watching me type over my shoulder, and bless, he just thought it would be a good idea to touch a single claw on my cheek as an indication of how badly he wants that chocolate cookie I'm eating.

While pooping in my shoe cupboard at 4 this morning didn't make me love him any MORE, the way he's been curled napping on my neck all day is making me more and more in love with him. I think we'll let him stay.

I'm not a complete Snoop fan, but I've had this song in my head for about a week now. I also love that he allowed the director to take the video this far back, in styling and production quality. I mean, a Vocoder? Awesome.

There are entries on the main page of my blog (probably not after I post this one) that are about half a year old.

I can't seem to write about things in my life or insights I have anymore, because:
(a) it's about work
(b) I have nothing more interesting than 'I dug up some concrete in the garden today' or 'we're getting a new door' - DIY overload which is boring even when you're living it yourself
(c) I open up Moveable Type and all interesting/witty writing flies straight out the window

I'm paying a small amount for the privilege of not blogging, too.

I don't want to stop though. I have this irrational fear that if I do, I'll suddenly have a massive thing happen in my life, and I'll want to write about it, and people will want to read about it, and then where will I be? I'll only have flickr, facebook, twitter, lastfm, and email to broadcast this world-rocking information (whatever it may be)! I may as well not exist!

I'm not giving up yet. I'm just thinking of it.