There's some good news, and

some bad news.

Bad news first. Gareth has died. He acquired a lump on his back, and then I think he had a stroke, anyway, he managed to wedge himself half in and half out of the remains of a shredded 'Value' egg box. This managed to look completely silly by the time he'd gone cold and stiff. I can only hope that my demise may be a little more dignified. And if I do peg it half way in a box, please let it be a quality brand.

So, that's it for us. No more small caged rodents. And I mean that.

The good news.

I've stopped amoking. Ha! No, I have. I read that Allen Carr book and stopped. I think my family and friends are a bit stunned. Well I had to do it for when I have my flabby bits removed and would like to think I shall have the courage to stick it out forever.

Mind you, I've been more or less pissed since I stopped, so probably have replaced the 20-30 fags a day with 20-30 glasses of wine.

Can anybody decipher a University timetable? Jonathan and I can't understand it at all, and neither can Paul and he's already got a degree.