Gideon's Words Will Not Save Them

I tried hanging myself the other day as Party Time's gone and done a bunk and I was left to go round to the shop to buy heating credits, something I just couldn't be bothered doing – and so I thought to myself, 'instead of having to go outside into the cold night to buy heating and thus being left to freeze to death here at home I may as well just get it over with and kill myself by hanging.' But, would you credit it? The fucking rope I got outta the cupboard under the sink were too long and when I threw myself off the upstairs landing I landed smack on my ankle right in the front hall, the rope still well slack. And now that fuckin ankle's massively swollen up and aches dully and continually.

Party Time and I hit a little impasse in our Credit Card Fraud scheme by the fact that we learned that a few online transactions require a Billing Address + we still can't come up with good cover for snapping folks' cards on our phones (ideas here would be appreciated).

Ju-Ju Brush moved out after a week and a half or so after he met some ex of his in the Slimeshite (The Limelight) who took pity on him and brought him home to nurse him back to wellness, sorta like you would a wounded cat you'd found on the road.

I am glad of this, his moving out, as his Harmonium playing was getting right on my goat. As well as this he had started doing my nut in with his autistic recollection of Top 10's from the last fifteen years. He'd shout em out (Bruno Brooks/Tony Blackburn styli) sounding like a right Head Spastic – like those lags in prison who recite, verbatim, horse racing commentary out loud to keep their mind busy.

Still, I miss having company, and that cat, who I've named Worf (cos he's a clingy little cunt – a little Klingon), has some unidentifiable learning difficulty and as a result is no fun at all. He is robotic in his movements and completely unresponsive to stimuli. I even caught a little mouse in a trap out the back and tied him to a piece of fishing line, dangling it in front of Worf, but he didn't even display a disinterested contempt, just a...nothingness. Definitely a retarded feline...

I am reminded of Kimba's birth mother by this halfwit cat. She used to live in a very tiny bedsit on India Street off Botanic. As her quarters were so small she couldn't have what she wanted most in the world, which was a 'Cute little Puddy Cath' as she put it, irritatingly, with fake lisp and all...So she went and bought this robot cat outta Argos, some child's thing, what did a few tricks. One trick was it could respond to this trinket-y mouse shaped lazer pen thingy by following it with its eyes very slowly when you shone it on the wall. It moved its head like an elderly woman with arthritis in her neck and its miaows sounded like the wails of those abandoned Romanian orphans you see on the news every so often. She finally got sick of it and took it apart, hanging its head and other bits of it from her Christmas Tree one year.

Tonight I am considering whether to put a tree up or not. Thinking of Kimba's birth mother's robot cat I am inevitably brought back to the memory of Kimba herself via the mother. Thoughts wrought sadly thinking that the company I'd like most of all this time of year would be her's, and on Christmas Day, opening presents with her sitting under our big grand colourful Christmas Tree that she always made up so pretty, we'd tell blue jokes to one another from outta the latest Viz Annual and get drunk on Vodka shots...ah, the technicolor memories strung with blinking plastic lights.