Fleas & G-Strings

Ginger cats adopted: 1

Fleas found: 6 (nothing to do with the ginger cat)

Goals scored this season: 10

Free Waitrose coffees this week: 5

Games of Trivial Pursuit lost: 1

Cost of a cinema ticket these days: £9.50 (appalling)

The last couple of weeks have seen the arrival of fleas at my London residence.  Max and Lilly, the family's cats, are to blame, for what has become not just a few pesky nibbly creatures, but a blooming nuisance.  I wasn't believed at first when I found a tiny black 'something' on my cheek one morning, followed by two on my shin the following day.  Lily had only been in my room once - but apparently, that was all it took, much like naive teenage girls having unprotected sex and winding up pregnant.

Then the irritating bites appeared, which tea tree oil did nothing to soothe. Odd that nobody else in the family was bitten despite the little toerags being found throughout the house, but maybe, like with mosquitoes, mine was the preferred blood type.

Personally, I wasn't particularly bothered- I'm sure every cat gets fleas at some point in their life, but my landlady was horrified.  Out came the hoover, scanning every inch of floor, then the flea spray, drenching the carpets and sofas. Finally the house was 'flea-bombed' which in itself sounds rather drastic.  Surely the creatures couldn't survive a complete gassing? 

For a week, calm seemed to have been restored, the fleas had vanished.  The cats received a new dose of Frontline, with the dosage calculated by their weight.  The 'weighing of the cats' caused a minor kerfuffle, as since this involved weighing yourself, then weighing yourself holding the cat and calculating the difference, nobody wanted to brave the scales for fear of revealing their own weight.  This is where a unconsciousness male in the house would have been handy.

But then, last night at supper... 'I have a family announcement.  I FOUND MORE FLEAS!'  As a final resort, pest control are being brought in today. Let's hope they put the fleas to bed (not in mine again, please) once and for all.

Work is plodding on by.  The other lady in the office over-shared again, announcing that she ought to go to the high street to buy new g-strings.  We laughed and asked if her Tinder dates were progressing to the underwear-revealing point. Apparently this is not the case, simply that she thinks it inappropriate to have a VLP at work (despite us pointing out she spends 90% of her day sitting down) and that due to her 'Heathrow Injection' she's grown out of her old ones. In an office where any chance of romance is 100% unlikely, I'm happily sticking with my comfy, VLP- inducing knickers and don't care what anyone else thinks. 

Still nothing to report on the romance front.  My Made In Chelsea viewing inspired me to consider speed-dating, just for fun, but as Spencer pointed out, 'speed-dating reeks of desperation.' Maybe not then.