Nine Lives

So I'm meant to be cat-sitting at the moment.

I don't really like cats. I've tried. But I'm a dog girl at heart.

So I've gotta give this cat called Vienna its food and let it out and stuff. I was meant to go this morning to check up on it. But I didn't bother and lay in my pjs until 12, eating buttered crumpets. And the owner rang me like 20 times yesterday to check it's still OK.

What I don't get about people who love their cats..I mean what do the cats give back? You can't take them for a walk or roll in the mud with them. They don't wag their tails appreciatively. Instead, you're left with scratches up your arms like some potent self-harm and long hairs on your clothing.

Give me Bo, the Obamas new dog for walkies any day.

The Allure of the Japanese

The other day, I was on the bus in Elephant & Castle, listening to a raucous bunch of drunken passengers singing of the joys of Moroccan couscous. Then at the next stop, on jumped a group of Japanese people, one guy with an uncanny resemblance to Steve Aoki with an awesome girlfriend and a cool gay couple. The girl had the those American Apparel Afrika print leggings on with fringy boots and the rest of the guys wore black leather jackets and scuffed boots and hats and generally looked far too amazing for the grubby double decker, stinking of BO and curry. And it got me thinking about how much I love the Japanese. The film Lost in Translation got me especially transfixed. That hotel Scarlet Johansson stays in, lying in the bath with her mega headphones in, watching the bustling city of Tokyo below seemed as perfect as solitude can get. Their lifestyle seems something that us westerners can learn from. They have as a whole, a very healthy lifestyle with barely any dairy consumed. There’s also some sort of allure about the Japanese, something about their diverse culture so different from what I’ve ever experienced. Off to Tokyo, then.