What, Still No News

No News is, well, no news. Cuddesdon News has been off the air for several weeks now and it could be assumed that there has been no news-worthy events to report from Cuddesdon. Nothing could be further from the truth........

There has been:

• The Cuddesdon Fete, most notable for Fillipa's "Pissed as a Parrot" speech.
• Another parcel for Mr Big Lou.
• The wipper-snipper gang.
• Mr Big Lou's name change.

To name but a mere selection of events/scenes. Over the next few weeks I shall attempt to get things back up-to-date.

The Cuddesdon Drug Scene

I have just seen one of the funniest things I have seen for ages. As a close friend once said "I laughed so much a little bit of wee came out". (Nice).

During a recent visit to chav central The Ring Master and I were trolling down the pet section when The Ring Master came upon a new cat treat called "Good Girl Catnip Treats". Allegedly made from milk derivatives, whatever they are, they also contained catnip. We threw one packet into our basket and made for the exit.

Now Rez, as I have reported previously is a fussy eater who only imbibes on alternate Wednesday's. However, on occasion she has been known to push the boat out and eat random crap just to keep us on our toes. Thus it was no surprise when Rez tucked into the new Good Girl Catnip treats with gusto.

Historically, we tend not to tempt Mr Big Lou with snacks-in-between-meals as his interpretation of the word snack is not the same as ours. However, on this occasion I thought I would try him with one of the new "treats". I placed a couple of the green drops on the carpet in front of him and stood back as I expected him to wolf them up without so much as a by-your-leave. Instead, he sniffed them and immediately dropped to the ground and rolled his fat face across the treats. As he did so a look of demonic pleasure came into his eyes and he repeated the action several more times. At this point I was falling about the room laughing uncontrollably and even though he hated me for it he could not resist the catnip treats.

I have now tried this on 3 separate occasions and each time Mr Big Lou has demonstrated the same loss of self-control. It is so funny I am planning on setting up demonstrations for friends and family.

Catnip is surely the cocaine of the cat World.

Cirque de Chat Noir

Rez possesses a natural grace and moves around with the ease of a ballet dancer. Her jumping is both accurate and stealthy and she can jump from the windowsill to the floor without making a sound. Last Saturday she decided to climb one of the tall flimsy trees that resides in the back garden and as usual she did this with a lithe beauty that was a joy to behold. Using almost imperceptible shifts of weight to each of her paws she was able to move in any direction. When she decided that she had seen enough she simply and calmly traversed down through the branches to ground level.

Sitting under a bush on the opposite side of the garden, observing Rez's high altitude antics was Mr Big Lou.

Now fast forward to this morning. I was about to get in the car when in my peripheral vision I caught sight of a tree, shaking violently. Even though it was incredibly windy at the time the alarming degree of movement was, I feared, too much for natural causes . My gaze then moved up the tree to a point four fifths of the way to the top where a very large black furry creature was swaying back and forth in the wind. My first thoughts were of bears or maybe gorillas although I dismissed this quite quickly as I did not think there were any native to South Oxfordshire. I decided to get closer and moved to the base of the tree and looked up again. This time I instantly recognised the source of the wildly waving tree, it was none other than Mr Big Lou. Apparently he had been entranced by Rez's airborne feats at the weekend and felt that it was well within his capabilities to emulate. He had also been egged on by Damian, one of the evil Tabby's from next door, who could be glimpsed at the far end of the drive with a smug grin etched upon his evil, lip-less mouth. Lou also reasoned that it would enable him to take his conservation work closer to the birds he had sworn to protect.

Had it not been so precarious, Lou's predicament would have been funny. At no point could he ever have been accused of being at one with the tree or the stunt. Each of his huge paws were straddled across different branches, one of which was in an adjoining tree. He made several attempts to regain his composure but unfortunately lost his footing/pawing each time. When this happened he moved in a style that I think he believed was controlled falling. My own view is that it was simply falling. I tried coaching him down but as we all know he is unable to interact with me during the hours of daylight and ignored all of the advise I shouted to him. After several more attempts of uncoordinated, gravity-driven lurches Mr Big Lou was suspended by his back legs, his face looking directly at the ground.

Suddenly a sharp crack was heard and one of the flimsy branches gave way under the weight of Mr Big Lou. Down he came, headfirst, taking out several more branches on the way. With an almighty thud he lands, completely ungainly on terre-firma and much to my relief, not to mention his own, he walks off, apparently unscathed. I can only hope that the lesson he will take away with him is that Rez moves on an entirely different plain to him and he must not try to copy her.

Only time will tell.

The Story of The Strange Millie-Type Cat

The story of the Strange Millie-Type Cat is fast becoming one of the legends of the Shires. Millie first came to live next door with the nice man and lady who have now gone and allowed the freaks to move in. I'm not bitter you understand. She was what is commonly known as a rescue cat, which incidentally are Mr Big Lou's origins. Apparently his parents were feral and roamed freely across North Oxford posing as panthers. This was until they were captured by a "do-gooder" who arranged to have them "snipped" and the fruit of their loins taken from them. Lou's parents managed to escape back into the wilds but Mr Big Lou was not so lucky. That was until Fillipa decided to have another stab at adoption.

However, back to the Strange Millie-type Cat.

Millie was quite possibly, with the exception of Trotter of course, the most deranged creature to have walked this island Earth. Her life had been somewhat traumatic and quite sad. Her first companion was a very elderly who frequently forgot that she lived with a cat. When this happened she would forgot to feed Millie. On other occasions when she would make a frail attempt at feeding the poor cat but would do so from a can of cat food that had been opened for a number of weeks. Eventually the elderly lady was considered to be a danger to herself and was taken to a sheltered home to see out her days with some other bewildered people. Unfortunately the day of her departure coincided with one of the lapses in memory that removed the existence of Millie from her thoughts. Consequently Millie was locked in the house by herself.

Millie's incarceration lasted for 7 months, 3 weeks, 4 days, 13 hours and 22 minutes until she was finally released by prowler. Upon breaking into the derelict looking old house the intruder was confronted by what he thought was a ghostly wailing banshee as he forced his way through the backdoor. It was of course Millie who followed the terrified scumbag out into the fresh night air.

This marked the start of Millie's time in Guilford where eventually she was befriended by a kindly old lady who would give Millie sardines and pilchards when she visited. As the friendship developed Millie would go into the kindly old lady's kitchen where she would take supper. Interestingly she would only eat food from a bone china plate and only if the kindly old lady handed it to her. Under no circumstances would Millie stay in the house during the hours of darkness. Instead she would sleep outside in a discarded kitchen cupboard that had been crudely fashioned into a type of kennel.

Sadly the kindly old lady passed away leaving Millie once again wondering why her companions kept abandoning her. After a few days of freedom Millie was captured by a cat rescue team and transported to Marlow where she moved into a house with a 3 legged cat called Arthur. This was not a happy home for Millie. It transpired that Arthur was in fact a terrorist and had spent the last 2 years hiding behind the oven. It was impossible for Millie and Arthur to be in the same room as each other and so it was decided to split the house in two. Millie would live exclusively on the upper floor whilst Arthur would remain on the ground floor. To the bottom of the stairs a high security door and alarm system was fitted to ensure that the 2 cats would never meet again. This new arrangement appeared to be working well until the day a visitor to the house accidentally left the door at the bottom of the stairs ajar. Millie immediately made good her escape hissing loudly at the evil Arthur as she shot past him and out in to the back garden.

Unfortunately Millie's latest break for freedom was short-lived. She decided to lay low in the shed and await the cover of darkness before hitting the highroad. This was a mistake as she was spotted going in by a nosy neighbour who closed the door behind her thus trapping poor Millie once again. After Millie was returned to her upstairs prison her mood did not lift and the sight of her forlorn features became too much to bear. Being too frightened of the evil Arthur to attempt to move him it was decided that a new home should be found for poor Millie.

Into The Story of The Strange Millie-Type Cat steps the nice lady from next door, who for several months had been "borrowing" Rez, Charlie Fuckwit and Channel on a regular basis and had developed a hankering for a pussy of her own.

Thus one dark and windy evening a posh wicker travel box turned up containing one well-travelled black cat, somewhat dishevelled in appearance and presumably to provide a degree of continuity in the wretched animals life she was delivered with an old kitchen cupboard that was unceremoniously dumped in the garden.

To say that Millie was anti-social would, I'm afraid, be an understatement of the highest order. Her first evening in Cuddesdon, post the forced extraction from her travel box, was spent under the table staring at the wall. When she did finally move it was to hide in the bedroom under the bed. She ensconced herself at the exact centre thus being unreachable from all sides.

What followed over the next few days was, in hindsight, an early sign that Millie was indeed a very scared and strange. Endless bouts of cat-n-human were played as she resisted all attempts to make friends and more importantly to feed her. However, the nice lady was not deterred and persevered where lesser mortals would have given up and sent Millie packing back to her cold discarded kitchen cupboard. Eventually a glimmer of a bond was established and Millie let the nice lady feed her and rewarded her by permitting the nice lady to stroke her under the chin.

And so for a few weeks an air of normality descended upon Denton Hill. Millie even began to respond to the nice man as well as the nice lady, although it has to be said he was sometimes a bit loud and boisterous for her. Then, very gingerly, Millie took her first steps into outside space and everyone worried that she would make good another cunningly planned escape, but she didn't and as time went by at its usual village pace routines began to develop.

On the surface Millie began to show real affection to her new caring companions and would purr loudly during the night when she slept on the bed with them. However, it now seems that deep down poor Millie was still troubled. Try as hard as she might she could not overcome her fear of being locked in again and was spending more and more time outside. She even took to sheltering from the rain in the shabby old kitchen cupboard that had been left in the garden. Over a period of several weeks Millie went into the house less and less until one day she disappeared completely. For days both myself and the nice lady walked up and down the village rattling boxes of catty nibbles and calling in impossibly high voices for the missing cat. At dusk we would equip ourselves with high powered torches that we would shine along the edges of the road and into the surrounding fields. All to no avail, she had gone.

However, it would appear that the story may not end there. Recently, a strange black cat has been seen passing through the garden. Both myself and Mr Big Lou have mistaken it for Rez and have both been surprised when we have discovered that it was not, Lou more than myself. He runs away whilst I run towards but to date I have failed to get close enough to ascertain the visitors true identity. My own view is that this strange and elusive creature is in fact Millie who, whilst relishing her freedom occasionally thinks of the few short weeks when she lived with companions who loved her and she loved them. So whenever she is in the area she drops by in the hope of seeing the nice lady once more and thanking her for her kindness and letting her know she is alright.

Faster Than a Speeding Drag Queen

At this precise minute Fillipa is flying through the Oxfordshire countryside in her new convertible. Within 20 minutes of taking delivery of the beast the top came down, a CD went in, leather driving gloves were donned along with a silk scarf and sun glasses and without further ado she was off.

Its difficult to keep up with her exact movements due to the gay abandon with which she has attacked this inaugural expedition. However, I do know that she has taken on her first chauffeuring engagement and is due at Preachers Lane within the next hour. From there she will be speeding with outrageous style to the Gate where she intends to drive up and down the road outside at approximately 6mph for most of the evening.

Please, if you do see her, do not step in front of the vehicle, it is highly unlikely that she would stop. Do however feel free to wave. I know that Fillipa has high hopes that her fantastic new automobile will turn out to be a "right old knob magnet".

I Don't Understand

Mr Big Lou spends most of his waking hours being scarred of me. He is sometimes too scarred to come into the house when I open the door for him, unless of course its teatime. Even then, once he has had his fill he scurries away, cowering as he goes. To a casual observer it could easily appear that Mr Big Lou was subjected to daily thrashings with a large stick.

If he sees me moving towards him he will find an escape route that avoids any contact. He never comes in when I call him and has never, ever sat on my lap. Many times when I enter a room he immediately shoots off at high speed.

Very occasionally and without warning Mr Big Lou will jump on the bed at night and lay down as close to my side as he can. Through the duvet I can feel him pushing his weight against me with quite some force. He then lets me stroke him and scrunch his fur in a rough but tender manner. After a few minutes he has wrapped his big forelegs around my arm and is gently flexing his immensely powerful claws against my arm. He does this without ever being too rough or scratching me. Sometimes he will pull my hand towards his huge mouth in a way that most cats do when they want to "play" bite. Not Mr Big Lou, as my finger reaches his powerful jaw he simply licks it. All the time this is going on he is purring so loudly that I fear he may wake the house.

Then, again without warning, he leaps up heavily and is gone. I remain and wonder if I had been dreaming but then convince myself that sometimes even Mr Big Lou needs to be loved.

Road Traffic Warning

After several days of deliberation and deep, deep thinking then more deliberation, Fillipa finally took the plunge today and purchased a new automobile. Make no mistake this is no ordinary car. It is drop-top, high power sports car and it is definitely not a tarts car.

The decision making process has been both exhaustive and exhausting for all those caught up in it. On balance it appears that the most significant justification for the extravagance of this purchase, is the fact that Fillipa will only be young once. (That however remains to be seen). The final piece of the jigsaw fell into place this morning during a test drive to Great Milton. It turns out that there are only 2 pedals in the car which leaves slightly more room for Fillipa's feet. Being of a larger shoe than most this feature went immediately onto the plus side of the equation.

With respect to to the mechanics of driving the beast, the nice man who accompanied Fillipa on this death defying speed test took a line directly from his handbook of "Condescending Saying's for the Car Salesman of the 1980's";

"Just push that lever to D for drive, and don't worry your pretty little head about all those buttons on the steering wheel".

Twat!

At this precise moment the aforementioned vehicle has been removed to a secret workshop for some necessary modifications prior to its delivery. These include stiletto-proof stainless steel plates being welded to the foot-well. The attaching of a pink faux-fur trim around the leading edge of the windscreen that is designed to "pop-up" when the roof is removed. Finally, the rear-view mirror along with both wing mirrors have been extended and welded into a position that ensures Fillipa has a 360° view of herself from the driving position. The final part of the "pimping" involves extending the space in the glove box to include a chiller for Clinique products.

Delivery is anticipated for Friday afternoon or Saturday morning. Plans are being made to close the access roads to the Village in order for Fillipa to practice getting in and out of the low profile seats without revealing too much under-carriage.

Conservation Gone Too Far

It is with some sadness that I have to report that Mr Big Lou has had his membership of the RSPB put on probation due to an "Incident".

In the early hours of Friday morning Mr Big Lou was out on manoeuvres when he happened upon a House Sparrow, whom we later discovered was called Nigel. According to Mr Big Lou he invited Nigel back for a peanut and a chat. However, the next time Nigel was spotted it was by The Ring Master who caught a glimpse of a trail of feathers under a bush by the patio. As he traced the line of the feathers his gaze eventually fell upon Mr Big Lou. In his mouth was the lifeless, floppy body of a House Sparrow, (Passer Domesticas), its little head having been slightly chewed. Mr Big Lou dropped the poor bird to the floor and tried to intimate that a terrible accident had occurred as he was helping his new friend through the undergrowth. Before he knew what was happening the poor bird's frail little frame had suddenly become listless.

At this point Rez, who had been hovering in an almost triumphant manner started to chant gleefully "Lou ate the birdy, Lou ate the birdy".

The Ring Master in a state of mild shock and some disappointment decided to put in a call to the RSPB. He was informed that the ruling body of the organisation would convene a special meeting to discuss recent events and determine an appropriate course of action regarding Mr Big Lou's continued membership of the organisation. In the meantime he was to be put on probation and his membership card withdrawn from circulation.

Why

Even when you have been awake since 01:48 and 3 hours later you have just managed to drop-off, Rez feels it is important to poke you gently with her tiny paw, make a loud pitiful call and let you know she has returned from an early morning reconnaissance mission.

Even when you managed to get off to sleep at reasonable hour with Rez's small, very black body sleeping peacefully at the bottom of bed, Rez feels it is important to poke you gently with her tiny paw, make a loud pitiful call to remind you that she is there.

Even when you were poked and awoken a mere 22 minutes ago, Rez feels it is important to poke you gently with her tiny paw, make a loud pitiful call just to remind you she is still there.

Mr Big Lou's preferred method of nocturnal distraction falls in to 3 main categories.

• There is the heavyweight jump from the windowsill onto the bed and/or its occupant(s). The recoil from the immense force of his landing has been known to lift the mattress from its base.
• Method 2 is slightly more subtle in that he diverts some of the blame to poor Rez. He will jump on the bed, purring very loudly rather bizarrely, and appear to nestle down for a sleep. However he has cleverly plonked his huge frame down across one of poor Rez's tiny limbs and proceeds to gently nip her. Rez of course takes a large slice of umbrage at this and leaps up noisily. Thus the effect is the same.
• Finally, Mr Big Lou's favourite method is to destroy cardboard boxes by chewing them loudly. Being woken from a sound sleep to this noise is often so disturbing that further sleep is impossible.

By way of revenge I spend much of the day waiting for the cats to drop-off before waking them with a gentle poke accompanied by a song. The songs are personal to each of them. To Rez I sing, quite loudly sometimes, "Le chat noir, sans giblet" to the theme tune of the television series of Spiderman. Mr Big Lou's tune, and I do use the term loosely, is as repetitive as Rez's tune and goes:

How are you Lou, how are you

How are you Lou, how are you, you you

How are you Lou, how are you

How are you Lou, you Lou, you Lou

Lou, Lou L-Lou-Lou

(Back to the start)

The tune for Mr Big Lou's song is the Indiana Jones theme tune.

Flying Objects

Its been an absolute revelation how the new amenities on the Village recreation ground have instantly transformed the social standing of Cuddesdon. The goalposts have proved a magnet to "footy" fans from as far a field as Nether Winchenden to the East and Hampton Poyle to the West. Since their erection, not an evening has passed without throngs of people having a jolly old kick-about. I am also happy to report that due in large part, no doubt, to the absence of any Italian or Spanish riot police, there has been no sign of any trouble from either the pitch or the spectators.

Whilst there appears to be no official dress-code to enable participation in the matches it is pleasing to see that a vast range of football apparel is often seen being modeled by the "players". Sadly, I have to confess to complete ignorance when it comes to discerning which team the colours represent, suffice to say that red seems to be very popular. Even some of the more senior players have dug out their old and somewhat faded kit and can often be seen pulling their grubby jersey's down across the apex of their beer-bellies. Unfortunately the shirts soon ride up over these mountainous regions to leave tantalising glimpses of bare, hair covered flesh.

Another pleasing aspect of this community activity is that it does not discriminate on the grounds of age in any discernible way. I have seen tiny 6 year old boys attempting to tackle enormous 47 year old landscape gardeners and hod carriers only to be trampled underfoot. Sometimes the "bigger boys" will also put on displays of fancy footwork and ball skills to impress a "lady" in the crowd and if it is at the expense of one of the diminutive youngsters, well nobody seems to mind.

I am however struggling with the structure of the games as there are rarely less than 4 footballs in play at any one time, I trust that someone knows what's going on.

Saturday afternoon saw one of the most bizarre and at the same time surreal sights to be witnessed in Cuddesdon. At the far end of the pitch a small group gathered and paid no attention to the ensuing battles on the field. They then began to unfurl what at first appeared to be an oversized black bag, or a "Tina" as Fillipa likes to call them when putting the rubbish out on a Monday morning. After about 35 minutes, what we thought was a "Tina" became a an object that was approximately 3 metres in diameter and 15 metres in length. The object, that at this point was floating just above ground level, resembled an over sized pack of liver sausage. I called Fillipa as a witness to this strange sight and she eventually arrived at the...............

Due to a hideous case of premature publication the above post was issued in mid stream and in an unfinished state. Thankfully, this was spotted by a concerned reader who reported the faux pas. I shall now retrace my steps and pick up from whence it stopped.

...............window, slightly breathless. We remained speechless for several minutes taking in the strange sights before trying in vain to agree on what exactly we were seeing. I, erroneously as it later transpired, stated categorically that the massive airborne object was a radio-controlled balloon. As the recreation ground is bordered by relatively low telephone cables I was beginning to picture a dramatic collision in the offing. After 45 minutes the tube was floating at about 45 degrees at which point both Fillipa and I bravely resisted the need to dip into our pool of crude similes, I can't begin to describe how difficult that proved. Fillipa had to leave at this point in order to start preparing for her forthcoming hostess training exams that were due on Tuesday.

The object by now had reached giddy heights and could be seen no doubt for miles. It was attached to an small man who was dressed from head to toe in waterproof plastic by an almost invisible piece of nylon cord. So it must be a radical new development in kites. I have to admit that I was suddenly gripped by the somewhat uncharitable thought of "So what".

She's Free...........

Mr Big Lou has just come bounding in with the news we have all be waiting for, Purdie has finally been freed from the hideous trapping incident in her cat flap. As I rushed round to congratulate her I passed the Wanahokaloogi Kid who was spitting his way down the path as usual. I nodded the obligatory, non-specific, mutually understood, I don't really want to engage you greeting of "All right" and completely out of the blue he stopped spitting and shook his head in an almost theatrical manner. He went to speak but was unfortunately gripped by the urge to spit and passed by without communicating what was troubling him. As I was later to discover he was the present as Purdie had been freed from her entrapment and had been visibly shaken by the event.

I arrived at the infamous cat flap and found it, thankfully, cat-free and with a sense of some foreboding I called our "Purdie" and tapped on the kitchen door. A faint meow was heard from inside followed by a rustle before finally Purdie appeared at the kitchen window. The sight that greeted me physically knocked me back and I recall gasping out loud.

Poor Purdie had been transformed into a completely novel creature comprising of 2 distinct halves. We had all assumed that the best way to extricate Purdie from her cat flap was in the forwards direction, hence the teasing with the piece of ham. However, Purdie had missed the logic of this strategy and spent her time easing herself backwards. By some bizarre, freakish twist of nature this action has forced all of Purdie's slimming to effect only one half of her body, her front half. Whilst she has reduced in size from her midriff to the ends of her front paws, including her head, her back half has remained its original size.

Purdie now has the appearance of a drag racer with her back sloping towards the front at an angle of 32 degrees. There is also a sharp and sadly bald line around her circumference at the point the cat flap held her.

As I stood, slack jawed, reviewing the spectacle, The Master, Fillipa and Mr Big Lou arrived with a celebratory can of tuna in brine and a cheap bottle of Cava. From the expression on my face I think they all sensed, with the exception of Mr Big Lou of course, that all was not well. And, as they followed the line of my gaze, to a man, cat and drag superstar they began laughing. Even the cats whose lack of lips makes laughing practically impossible, fell to the ground in an uncontrollable state of mirth.

Obviously this was too much for the absurdly shaped Purdie who immediately turned heel and carted her over sized rear-end back into the sanctuary of the dining room.

I have since made several attempts to recall her but as yet to no avail.

A Splendid Erection for the Village

Saturday has seen a hive of activity on the recreation ground. Several men-folk of the Village have been toiling for most of the day, their activities remaining shrouded in mystery until approximately 17:37.

The day began with the obligatory early morning trip to chav-central where the day's provisions were sourced. There's duck on the menu tonight for Fillipa, The Master and myself, whilst Rez will be gorging herself on 2 Dentebits. Mr Big Lou will be mostly eating anything he can get.

Being Saturday the whole household had plans. I wanted to scrub the kitchen floor, particularly around Mr Big Lou's dining area. To say he is a messy eater would be an injustice. We have tried placing his bowl onto a plate in an attempt to contain the debris he leaves as he ploughs through the brown filth we feed him on. This was only moderately successful and vast tracks of food were constantly left in his wake. The latest advance in food containment is to use an over-sized, stainless steel dog bowl. This has made an improvement although when Mr Big Lou avails himself of Rez's "left-overs", which are served on a bone china platter, he finds it impossible to clear the spoils without losing vast quantities over the side.

The Master and Fillipa have another shopping trip planned. As usual I telephoned the the Clinique counter in Boots at 06:30 hours to warn them of the impending visit and allow them enough time to have additional stocks flown in.

However, back to the recreation ground, which ended up becoming the focus for the day. Wheelbarrows, spades, buckets and more men folk appeared and much pacing ensued. At this stage the purpose of the activities was still a complete mystery and would provide much entertainment throughout the day. To the casual observer Steve Hnabscuha (ask 'chelle) appeared to be the brains behind the operation and clearly determined where the digging was to be done. Holes were dug, concrete was mixed and poured and much more pacing was conducted.

Finally, without any form of fanfare or ceremony, goalposts were erected.

Due, no doubt, to the diminutive size of the Cuddesdon Village recreational ground the position of the pair of goalposts was separated by no more than 3.7 metres, which seems a little close to me. However, what do I know. A point worth mentioning is that at this time there has only ever been 1 goalpost erected at any one time. It occurred to me that the holes that have been dug are the positions for alternate goalposts as opposed to concurrent goalposts.

Eddie and Lily stopped by to form a first hand opinion and unfortunately Eddie's thoughts turned immediately to weeing. And not the handheld games machine sort either. Whilst the speedy Eddie can rightfully claim to be the first to Christen the new white uprights, I feel certain that he wont be the last.

Finally a second set materialised and it would appear that the goalposts have stopped being moved. Nets have been added and a roughly marked pitch has been hand-mown. The recreation ground is now awash with grubby urchins come to knock one in, slide one past the obligatory tubby ginger goalie, in spite of his over-sized gloved hands.

As the evening wore on the urchins were replaced by a much older and it has to be said tubbier gang apparently come to recreate past glories. Brief moments of bipedal magic were interrupted by coughing bouts, doubling over and spitting and the imbibing of the occasional Capstan Full Strength. I'm beginning to think that this summer the recreation ground will provide even more entertainment than the time when 2 locals were seen pissing on the bonfire the night before the annual display and then trying to light it. Now there's a story that needs airing if ever there was one.

Trapped Cat - Update

Sadly I have to report that Purdie is still half-way though the cat flap. Her spirits have remained relatively high although someone has taken the piece of ham that was being used to motivate her. Its not clear who the perpetrator of the crime is although the list of suspects has been reduced to:

Mr Big Lou
The Strange Millie Type Cat
The Wanahokaloogi Kid

From the above list the number 1 suspect appears to be The Wanahokaloogi Kid on the grounds of motive. He suffers from a disorder known as "the munchies", which can force the sufferer to seek sustenance from almost any source at any time of the day and night and a piece of juicy ham would have been too much to resist.

A meeting of interested parties will take place this evening to decide on the merits of trying to tempt poor Purdie out of her predicament with some other food source.

Trapped Cat...........Shock, Horror

Shocking news has just been flashed through the Village:

Purdie is wedged in the cat flap!

After several months of what can only be described as binge eating her tummy, which incidentally has dragged along the floor for some weeks now, has finally gained enough girth to have caused the hideous trapping incident. Her tiny, and lets be honest, overworked little legs have thrashed frantically in an effort to recover the situation but as yet to no avail.

In an admirable "tough-love" stance her companions have decided to rent a cottage in Wales for the week in the hope that poor Purdie can slim her way out of the cat flap by their return. The move has also been designed to help Purdie's critically damaged self-esteem. Its the laughing you understand. Anyone who has come to see the stricken feline has found the sight so funny that they have been unable to hold back their hysterical laughter and as everyone knows the thing that cats hate more than anything else is to be laughed at.

A makeshift frame has been fashioned from an old chair onto which has been fitted one of those hamster water bottles. If Purdie turns her head to the left her tongue can just reach the plastic nipple and thus tease some moisture out to sustain her through the ordeal. In a move designed to maintain her motivation to get through the orifice, a piece of ham has been placed just out of her reach as a lure.

It had been mooted that we could use Mr Big Lou's bulk to assist with the extraction however he has resolutely refused to get involved on the grounds that the hapless Purdie must get her body mass down to suit the size of her head. At this point Rez, who appeared to be sleeping on the back of the chair, opened one eye approximately 2 millimetres and mumbled under her tiny breath "so you're an expert on head size/body weight now".

Regular updates on the situation will be published as they happen.

The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter

When I am working upstairs in the Comms room I often find it necessary to get up and pace around the upper floor. Whilst pacing I am drawn to the front bedroom window that offers a splendid view of the Village recreational ground complete with Village hall. Furthermore running the entire width of this vista is Denton Hill, which is a well-known suburb of Cuddesdon.

Now due to its moderately narrow width, coupled with the abundance of cars that park, quite legally, along the road there are countless conflicts of passage. I have witnessed complete blockages as lorry's delivered 1 tonne bags of sand or the Tesco van delivered 637 litres of Scotish water to the freaks.

On one memorable afternoon 2 coaches met face-on resulting in 1 of them having reverse at 0.037 miles per hour back around the corner. It took almost 45 minutes for the coaches to pass by which time the four-by-four's stood line astern all the way back to Chippinghurst.

I have to say that the vast majority of motorists behave in a perfectly reasonable manner and the flow of traffic is relatively trouble-free. That is with the exception of The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter. He believes that the way to ensure that his passage along Denton Hill is as smooth as possible is to toot his horn. His irritating tooting is directly linked to the position of the parked vehicles and unfortunately his most venomous blasts are reserved for the times when cars are parked outside our house. The determination with which he puts his right foot down and his left hand firmly on his horn are almost admirable.

I have not decided whether his aural abuse is designed to warn other motorists of his imminent arrival of to admonish the parker's of the cars. Either way it has become almost impossible not to rush to the front of the house and shout obscenities at him.

His anti-social behaviour is nothing new. One summer a few years ago Straight Pilot Dan became so incensed by his daily toot that he actually followed The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter back to his hovel in Denton and tooted the horn of his brand new MG in a "take that/how do you like it" sort of way. It is difficult to assess the impact that the brave Straight Pilot Dan's actions had but his return to Denton Hill was triumphant. Seldom seen neighbours appeared from their houses and cheered as he parked up. Even Fillipa, who was waxing her nipples at the time, came out and offered to carry Straight Pilot Dan's bag for him as thanks for his heroic and selfless act.

It is a sad reflection of The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter's social standing that the only time he leaves his hovel in Denton is to go to Chav Central (Asda) and purchase cigars which he smokes to further degenerate the quality of his leathery old skin. It's a small compensation for his anti-social and abusive behaviour but he is without doubt the most miserable, ugliest old man who has ever passed through the Village.

Parcel for Mr B Lou

On arriving home today I discovered that the postman had inadvisedly wedged a large package through a too small an orifice, the letterbox. However, that said the air of anticipation in the house was palpable and went someway to excusing "Posty" his misdemeanour.

I inspected the crumpled jiffy bag to determine who the lucky recipient was. Could it be more new undergarments, imported from Australia for Fillipa or could it be another new educational DVD imported from Holland also for Fillipa or was it for someone else.

The name on the package was:

Mr B Lou

and it came from the RSPB, yes it was Big Lou's membership pack. I wasted no time in gaining access to the contents of the package having decided not to hurt Big Lou's feelings by pointing out that his lack of opposable thumbs rendered him quite useless in the opening jiffy bag department. Obviously we do not include ripping with extended claws a satisfactory proposition.

By now, as I had already been in the house for in excess of 3 minutes 20 seconds Big Lou's patience was beginning to show signs of evaporating. Apparently he needed me to go into the kitchen, urgently, and get him some more of the brown crap we feed him on. Not known for his subtlety when it comes to food his purposeful marching between the living room and the kitchen door spoke volumes. Interestingly his keenness to maintain his newly defined "correct" figure is in marked contrast to Rez, who has taken to only eating on alternate Wednesday's. Even then it becomes a war of attrition to force a morsel into her lip-less mouth. Fillipa thinks she is trying to become the first size zero in the Village.

As Lou downed a light snack from his stainless steel dog bowl I spread the contents of his membership pack over the coffee table. It included:

• A nice letter from the RSPB thanking Mr Big Lou for his support and explaining how important his contribution to the conservation of birds is.
• A glossy brochure detailing all of the wildlife centres that Mr Big Lou can visit freely as one of the perks of his membership.
• A card with a picture of a Tawny Owl on the front with the words printed inside "To Big Lou; Congratulations on being the right size for your head". (The picture on the card was slightly troubling as Fillipa loathes Owls. We don't know why but she does, with a vengeance. Sometimes there is a man at the entrance to the Westgate Centre with a selection of Owls that he displays to the general public. When this occurs Fillipa has been known to abandon shopping and leave the City Centre by the quickest route and take refuge with Trotter).
• His very own membership card that is valid until July 2008. Rather splendidly it is in the name of Mr Big Lou, as it should be. There is also a guest pass that can be used by someone to accompany Big Lou on one of his visits.
• Finally, the free gift, The RSPB Handbook of British Birds, Second Edition by Peter Holden and Tim Cleeves.

From this mighty tome we have already learnt that there are over 1,000,000 members of the RSPB, 160,000 of whom are children and 1 cat.

At this point Big Lou returned from his "snack" flicked through the glossy paperback and confirmed that the birds who were regularly seen delving into our peanut peckers were clearly Blue Tits and not Great Tits. Lou then went on to state that the difference between Parus Caeruleus and Parus Major was obvious.

Mid-week Slump

Arrived home today, having stopped off at the newly re-fitted Asda to pick up a lonely-bastard-meal-for-one, only to find both cats locked out and starring at me in an accusing fashion from the other side of the patio doors. The temperature in the house was at minus 3°C. After some investigation it was discovered that the thermostat had been set to a freakishly low number. Putting 2 and 2 together I deduced that Fillipa Hole had been the last person to leave the house. Furthermore, the fact that the LED on the washing machine was blinking at me incessantly, coupled with the fact that Big Lou and Rez were locked out led me to the conclusion that the scene in the house at about 08:00am had been a blurr of activity.

I let the cats in and was immediately subjected to the "feed me, feed me" behaviour. Even Rez, who is renowned for eating less than Ghandi, appeared keen. I chose to placate Big Lou, sorry Mr Big Lou first. As he had been excluded from the house for the day there were still some remnants of breakfast left in his stainless steel dog bowl. Don't ask. So, I washed this down the sink and opened a fresh can. I try to build up his anticipation by saying things like "Oooh Lou its brown and smells vile", which seems to amuse him. I place the huge bowl down and Mr Big Lou "Chows down" as they say.

Now for Rez, the blackest cat in the world.

Unusually she has placed herself by the bread bin and awaits the amusebouch that I am about to serve up. In spite of much teasing and cajoling Rez eats a massive 0.37g of food.

Quite often I lean on the windowsill of the front bedroom and watch the goings-on in the Village recreation ground. We call it "The Red Reck" I don't know why.

Sometimes you see people flying kites and performing impressive acrobatic feats.

Sometimes you see "Dad's" having a kick-about with their offspring.

But, mostly you see people exercising their dogs. And, being fine Villagers they, to a man, always remove their pets poops.

I have recently come to wonder what a small, warm pooh, that has been gripped through a polyethylene bag must feel like.

Do they, for example, apply a slight, almost indiscernible squeeze, to determine the quality of the stool.

Thank heavens for cats.

Mr Big Lou

Whilst flicking through the new Radio Times the usual assortment of unwanted advertising material dropped out and landed on to the sofa where Big Lou was taking his mid-morning nap. He raised his head and reached out his huge paws to rest on one of the scattered brochures. It would appear that he was strangely drawn by the picture of a Bullfinch whose beady little eye seemed to follow him in a slightly unnerving manner.

On closer inspection we discovered that what we had assumed to be rubbish, destined for Fillipa's industrial scale recycling operation, was in fact very interesting. It was an offer to join the RSPB with 3 free months and a choice of a free gift. Whilst he was still awake I decided to read some of the details out to Big Lou.

"As a member of the RSPB you will receive:

• Welcome pack bursting with information.
• Entry to over 100 nature reserves.
• BIRDS magazine four times a year. With over 100 pages, this great read is exclusive to RSBP members.
• A choice of either a FREE handbook of British birds, which illustrates over 280 species, OR a FREE bird feeder and seed."

Unfortunately I had failed to notice that I had lost Big Lou's attention sometime during the brief oration and he had in fact "dropped off" again. It was at that point I hatched a mini master plan, I would enrol Big Lou with the RSPB as a present for achieving such a glowing report from the veterinarian.

I dashed to the comms room and opened a portal to the outside world. I found the required website and completed the ubiquitous "apply online" procedure. To my absolute delight there was the facility to purchase a membership as a present. It therefore gives me great pleasure to make the following announcement:

The newest member of The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds is

Mr Big Lou of Cuddesdon.

The "Mr" had been inserted automatically as it was one of the mandatory fields. However, on reflection I think Big Lou will be very pleased with the air of sophistication it gives him.

We are now on tenterhooks as we await the delivery Big Lou's membership pack which includes his very own membership card. Incidentally the free gift I selected for him was the "Handbook of British Birds". It turns out there is still some debate as to whether our peanut peckers are being ravaged by Great Tits or Blue Tits. I am hoping that Big Lou will use the manual to conduct some much needed research and clear the matter up for us once-and-for-all. Exciting times ahead. As Rez has often said "The wildlife of Cuddesdon is safe in our paws".

http://www.rspb.org.uk/

Big Lou fits his head

The hot topic that has caused a stir in the Village tonight is Big Lou's visit to the Vets. As his annual check-up and jab loomed in Big Lou's PawPilot he became increasingly glum. The dulling of his spirits had not been helped by Rez, amongst others, who had predicted a diet would be called for. Rez had even taken time to explain that "fat cats" must have their temperature taken in order for their correct weight to be calculated . As you can imagine, all cats dread their temperature being taken.

So, we squeezed Big Lou into his travel box and set off early for what turned out to be a smooth passage down the dreaded Ladder Hill. We have always preferred the first appointment of the evening as it avoids having to spend time in close proximity to other waiting animals and motley owners. During Rez's last visit a vile yappy type dog did a little pooh when he was called into surgery. Apparently he always did this when he got excited. Thankfully the huge lady who accompanied him came to the rescue with a tissue and an empty pocket. Whilst waiting we decided to take the "Bull-by-the Horns" and place Big Lou, in his travel box, onto the scales. With some trepidation we patiently waited for the LCD numbers to stabilise.

They did. At 6.7kg.

Things were looking grim.

Finally a very young and not unpleasant "new" vet came out and called for "Lewis". After several seconds Big Lou and myself, almost simultaneously, twigged that the inexperienced young vet had made a clumsy error with names and was in fact calling for Louis. We let it slide, on this occasion, and went in. Big Lou was placed on the table and dragged from his retreat, leaving a trail of sweaty paw marks across the shiny table. After the usual prodding and poking I broached the subject of size/weight, noticing out of the corner of my eye a distinct black look coming from Big Lou. The vet listened, prodded some more and then went as far as some pinching, before taking Big Lou's travel box, minus occupant, out to be weighed. She returned and performed a slick piece of mental arithmetic and pronounced Big Lou's actual weight to be 5kg.

We held our breath.

She then went on to say that for the size of his head she did not think that Big Lou was overweight.

If Big Lou had been blessed with lips I feel sure that at that point he would have smiled. Instead he allowed himself to be injected and forced back into his travel box for the journey back to the bosom of his family in Cuddesdon.

Upon arriving back at home he mooched about a bit to show his disdain of the whole event. However, when Rez strolled in from an evening saunter, flighty as usual, he went up to her and whispered "I told you I was big boned".

Great Tits

Exactly how many peanuts does a Great Tit need before they say to themselves "That's me done". It would appear that number is quite high. I have recently placed 2 bird feeders in a tree in the garden to augment the lardy seedball that is attached to the fence post at the end of the garden. 1 feeder contains peanuts of the "Not for Human Consumption" type and the other a selection of mixed seeds.

Now, in addition to the question regarding Tit satisfaction there are several other points that have come to light:

• How do the birds know what a bird feeder is?
• How do they know that if you balance your frail frame on the plastic rail and poke your tiny little head through the hole at the bottom you will be rewarded with either a peanut or a seed?
• Why is it only Great Tits that have found this source of food?

The peanuts last about 2 days before they need replenishing. When I take the feeder down from the tree the birds sit in another tree wait for me to finish filling the plastic tube and the minute I have reached the patio they are tucking in to the fresh supply. I sometimes suspect they are laughing at me.

Changes Afoot

Shocking news from Cuddesdon. It would appear that attempts are being made to sell "The Cottage". I arrived home one evening to find some grubby little van driving man erecting a "For Sale" sign in my garden. My initial thoughts were that of homelessness, cats and drag queens being fostered out to Oakley and separation from our fascinating neighbours.

I ran to the phone and called the local blood-sucking property agents, to be told by whom I can only imagine as a 19 year old, pimply, greasy haired office junior that it was in fact "The Cottage" that was being sold and was I interested in a viewing. At that point I put the phone down, obviously.

On a brighter note Big Lou is over-joyed that Beelzebub and Damian, the current occupants, will be leaving. The vile Tabby pair have caused nothing but trouble since their arrival. Forcing their way through the now defunct passage to wreak havoc with the gorgeous Rez and the somewhat simpler and more cowardly Big Lou. In spite of being the size of a small Bulldog, Big Lou remains scarred of well almost everything, including the small Tabby pair from "The Cottage" and "The Strange Millie Type Cat who passes through occasionally. (NB. "The Strange Millie Type Cat" is so strange that in the fullness of time an entire post will be devoted to her and her work).

A few days after the erection, The Village Oracle positively jogged down the hill to speak to me as I returned from an early morning spat at the newly re-fitted Asda. (They can now cram more chav's down 1 aisle than any other major retailer). Hot on The Village Oracle's heels was Scottish Jill bursting with inquisitive excitement. In unison they pressed me for information. Jill even tried trading Village gossip by telling me that she had sold her house to a friend who would be renting it out once they leave in November. In the end I could hold back no longer and I squealed like a stuck pig that it was "The Cottage" that was being sold. Both left, triumphant that they had gleaned facts from an ill-prepared poof.

It was at that point that the cruel reality dawned on me.

Dom & Michelle - Gone
T & Ross - Gone
Jill & Clan - Gone
Cat Killer - Gone
And now to top it all BC & Anni - Gone

Life in Cuddesdon will never be the same.......................................................................

The Return of the View

It has been almost 3 months since the last View from the Village. Much has happened, much has not happened. I was going to create an elaborate reason for not posting in such a long time. However, I am concerned that cracks would soon appear in the fabric of the story and give it away as fiction. So, I shall stick to the truth: I couldn't be arsed.

That's a slight exaggeration I think I developed a mild case of Bloggerphobia like my friend Dom. He sees Blogging as a complete waste of Internet bandwidth and much prefers to spend his surfing time on the Oxford Untied website. (I understand they were once a famous football team).

So here goes another attempt.