Well, my apologies for not getting this done yesterday. Not that I was at all distracted by the absolutely terrible mood brought on by the dreadful, pathetically inept departure of the English team from the RWC at the hands of, for pete’s sake, why them? Anybody else I could have stomached, any other team – Zimbabwe, Dubai, Luxenbourg, Monaco, but why, of all teams, couldn’t they just raise their game long enough to beat the bleedin’ French…
I even laughed at this joke sent to me by my Brother wot lives in Sydney, (well, Newcastle, actually, though at the moment he’s driving his supertanker somewhere around the Southern Ocean – he’s the smart one of the family.)
An Englishman, Irishman and a South African walk into a bar
………………at the departure lounge.
Ha, bloody ha, ha.
Anyhoo, on to a much more congenial subject. I liked all of the photos – Araminta’s was especially creative, I thought, and OZ’s was, well, OZ’s, though he did redeem himself with the charming shot of Das Furballen cuddling each other
Soutie’s pride was splendid – we often hear the expression ‘feral grin,’ but the middle lady in the shot really embodies the phrase.
Toc’s gatos rechonchos look expressively indolent, and RR’s Cleo, with her tail mid-twitch, has that ‘You think you’re getting away, don’t you,’ look that cats do so well, even with a furry toy.
But the one I liked best, was Pseu’s, even though it marked a sad occasion. The slightly glazed look in the eyes says, ‘Yes, I know I’m on the chair, but I’m going to sleep, live with it.’
So, the winner is Pseu – over to you, Ma’am.