The Mothwoman Prophecies

Nature has decided to strike back on three fronts.
The moths are back, bringing with them larvae and a renewed vigour for pissing off the cats. Yesterday the wife found they had invaded her plastic container sealed porridge oats, so the lot had to be binned. She's probably been eating them for a while but hasn't noticed any ill effects other than an urge to chew clothing and bump into light bulbs. Apparently it is not unknown for moths to get in to packaging while it is still in the supermarket, so placing the food into a plastic container is not always going to help. Chemical Calvert has ordered that moth balls will now be used in conjunction with other chemical agents to rid the house of the winged pests once and for all. Other than a strongly worded letter from Hans Blix, I think we are in the right on that one.
White tail spiders have also been able to penetrate our defences, mainly as it has been too warm not to leave the windows open. No bites as yet, but it is only a matter of time.
Ants have invaded from the basement, sending scouts into vital areas and generally giving the cats something to be puzzled over at ground level. I have decided to go down the Ant Auschwitz route and have deployed Raid in the hopes of eradicating them. Getting them tattooed might have been a step too far, though, and I'll end the madness once I ink Drone XB775968Z.
I'm not sure what purpose ants actually serve on the planet, so God must have just invented them for a laugh with the bits he had left over from pubic lice.
I was thinking of hiring the spiders to kill the ants off, but then I'd have to get in birds to eat the spiders. This madness would only end with me having a full size tiger in the house and wishing I could clone velociraptors to see them off. It would all end it tears. And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

We went out to Newmarket last night with Ian and Laura whom we met on the Egyptian Plague Felucca. Ian paints boats for a living so Clare immediately went straight in with the boat questions as she now wants one (don't get me started). Laura was the only person I can recall who didn't contract Death Shits when we were on the Nile but she did neck a bottle of cheap vodka so that probably killed off any germs. She was legally registered as blind for three days afterwards, though.
Newmarket is a very well to do area with some nice bars, restaurants and plenty of boutique shops. It is also home to one of the Cock and Bull chain of English pubs. By English pubs this doesn't mean it is full of chavvy slappers, drug dealing doormen and the small fact that you get glassed at the end of the night, but it does mean they have the same quality live entertainment. Last night it was the turn of local covers band Take Note (Of The Fact That You Will Never Want To See Us Again) who opened up to a surprisingly empty bar with Avril Lavigne before descending into the Bee Gees, the Doobey Brothers and assorted Reggae (which consisted of one of them saying "Yeah, mon" every few seconds). This was topped off by several imbeciles in the pub, mainly of Oriental extraction, dancing very badly to the renditions. One of these scored several cool points by pretending to cast a fishing rod at his girl and then reeling her in. Sadly for him she got up from her seat and went to the bar instead, which was a better choice on her part. We left in the interval, sparing ourselves the horror of part two, but it did confirm one rule. Heterosexual men should always keep their hands at chest height or below when dancing. The instant their hands go above chest height, they become homosexual. It's the law in any country.

Finally, when we got in it was time to give the new kitten her fourth feed of the day. I opened up the Whiskas box and grabbed a pouch before staring at it with incredulity. The box says "Whiskas Kitten Food" on it in large letters. It has several pictures of a kitten adorning it as well as all the nutritional information you will need to know about the furry heat-leeching sponger screaming at you from ankle height. The pouch has all the same wording and nutritional info on it as well as the ubiquitous picture of a kitten. It also has the words "Pet Food Only" and "Not Intended For Human Consumption" emblazoned on it. I can count on the fingers of one head the amount of times I have bought kitten food, gone to serve it in bowls for my human guests before slapping myself on the forehead when I see the words "Pet Food Only" mocking me in unforgiving black letters. I can only guess it is an American influence as those mooks tend to bring about legal proceedings when they eat catfood or try to make toast in the bath.
I'm now off to stencil the household appliances with the words "Do Not Insert Violently Into Rectum", just in case.