Matt's Journal

Yesterday was my Father-in-Law’s birthday and both Katie and I had been asked to take the day off and help him celebrate his 62nd year in existence. Waking up and slowly getting ready, we made our way over to their house, in time to decide where to have lunch.

We enjoyed a lovely three course meal, put the world to rights and counted down the hours until we due to head to the theatre and enjoy an evening of live music in the form of “They Will Rock You”. This was a Queen tribute act that quite obviously took the show name from the very popular West End musical “We Will Rock You”.

We arrived at the theatre early enough to enjoy a drink in the bar, before settling down to the evenings entertainment. Firstly we enjoyed a Boy George tribute act, one that Katie and I really couldn’t relate to, perhaps because we didn’t know any of the songs he performed other than “Karma Chameleon” and “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?”.

Next up was a Michael Jackson act who couldn’t sing for toffee but had a few good dance moves so it was still enjoyable. Just before the halftime interval we were treated to a Bee Gee’s act which did very well to motivate the crowd before the Queen act hit the stage.

There was one thing that threatened to put a dampener on the night, the group of three behind us. They had been drinking all day and were massively pumped, a little too much so. The oldest of them was at least sixty and he was banging into all the seats in front of him, taking photos when he was told not to and shouting words that echoed similarity to Sloth from The Goonies. That said, when the Queen act go into their show, he was too busy trying to lurch over some weird looking girl in the aisle than annoy us from kick our seats. The only thing that would have made it better would have been to see him fall over, and believe me he wasn’t far from it.

We were treated to a good few Queen classics before we headed home, getting in just after midnight. A good night was had by all.

I think I’m cursed.

Yesterday morning was like any other Sunday morning, I got up, I readied myself for football and got there with plenty of time to spare, looking forward to ninety minutes of Sunday footy.

Twenty minutes into the game, one of the opposing players decided to launch himself at me, I was already committed to the tackle so I couldn’t pull out. The end result was me on the floor holding my ankle cursing the referee for having the cheek to not even award a freekick, let alone check if I was OK!

I tried to run it off but there was no chance, I was walking like I had been shot in the kneecap. Coming off, I pulled down my sock and there was a gigantic ankle staring back at me. The game ended, I drove home and tried to milk as much sympathy as I could from Katie…and that was like getting blood from a stone!

My day didn’t end there, I quickly showered and drove us both over to the In-Laws, there was a 600lb fish tank that needed lifting into their house. Being completely honest, I was as useful as a chocolate teapot, all I could do is hobble as we carried something that could have accommodated Shamu into the house.

We watched the Carling Cup Final and saw my beloved Tottenham lose, we returned home to watch a film and have an early night…or so we thought.

Katie looks at my leg/ankle, it was feeling a lot more than a sprain and the pain was a lot more specific than general swelling. I was convinced to go to A&E at the hospital, where we waited only briefly before we spoke to a triage nurse and getting some X-Rays done.

Returning to the waiting room, we were amazed to watch a middle aged man stand up, pace up and down the corridor and let off the almightiest fart, to which Katie and I burst into fits of hysterics. Shortly after that, I was called back to see the damage to my ankle/leg.

As you may have already guessed, it wasn’t good news. The X-Ray had quite clearly shown a fracture to the bottom of my leg, one that would mean a cast and no football for me for quite a while. I was duly bandaged up and sent on my way to return a couple of days later.

I sit here typing with my leg elevated, trying to ignore the dull ache of my fracture. I will be sporting my cast for four weeks minimum, a period where I will be very reliant on Katie. This could be much to her delight as she can throw all the things I said to her when she was in the exact same situation back at me!

You may have noticed that Matt’s Journal is sporting a new logo.

I’d been using a makeshift image until I got around to making one but never actually managed to do it. Whilst conversing with Sam (@Quilo) on Twitter, I asked him for advice as to what would look good sitting at the top of my site.

Sam offered to knock me up a new placeholder, a few days later this is the end result. What do you think?

If you need a new logo or design, I suggest you give Sam a look (linked below):

Lately all I seem to be writing about are my animals and their daily pursuits. Unfortunately today is no different.

On Saturday night, the cats were being their usual noisy selves, playing until the early hours, meowing at random moments, with me watching a film downstairs. Katie had to work on the Sunday so she had taken herself off to bed, leaving me with “The Boys”.

Just as I was clearing up and coming up to bed, I noticed a smell coming from the kitchen. It was coming from the cat litter tray, but seeing as I had only emptied it that day, I was surprised to see that one of the cats was having a little stomach complaint in there.

It called for a midnight cleanup, so I emptied the litter and put it out in the bin, coming in to watch both cats dash outside. Not bothering to try and chase both of them indoors at such an hour, I shut the door and promptly went to bed.

The next morning, Pusskins is butting the back patio doors to get in, there isn’t a sign of Niblet, which is weird because they always hang out together. Katie and I call for him but nothing can be seen of him. I have to go to football and Katie needs to go to work, we both leave thinking the little mite will probably be waiting for us when we return.

Alas, that wasn’t the case.

I scour the neighbourhood sounding like a right weirdo as I call out “Niblet” and “Nibbles” at the top of my lungs, with a big box of Go-Cat in my hand and my mobile in the other. Again, the search is fruitless.

Then I decide to lure him in using the oldest trick in the book, food. I open a can of tuna and pour the contents into a dish. I cover the dish with foil and punch holes in the top to send smell waves of delicious tuna wafting into the neighbourhood. A Google search also suggests putting out something that smells of you, out go my sweaty trainers from football.

Hours pass and he is MIA. Katie comes home, calls out for him but she has no luck…..until a couple of minutes later we hear a scratching at the door. We open the door to find Niblet waiting there, looking as if nothing had happened.

Concluding

Letting the cats out is something we are looking to do more often, they are sent out at every opportunity. The problem we face in our neighbourhood is that it is densely populated with other cats, it has a train track 20 metres from the house and lots of foxes patrol the area. Now that we know he is a bit of a wanderer, the search will not be so hasty.

So yeah, that was a bit of fun while it lasted, Katie now fears the day I’m left alone with any kids we have for fear I will either drop them on their head or lose them.

Last night I was watching the tail end of the Aston Villa UEFA Cup match when, for only five seconds or so, this appeared on the screen:

There must be some sort of Windows gubbins going on behind the broadcast, I wonder what caused it.

No, it’s nothing to do with animation, simply animals.

I have some bad news to report, I am what is considered a rabbit killer.

A couple of weeks back, at the end of one of the weekday evenings, I was putting Leo the rabbit back in his cage. As I lowered him into the door of the cage, he decided he would try and buck. So, I am holding onto this giant (yes GIANT), lop-eared rabbit as he tries to free himself and plummet to the floor below.

I try to release him as close to the floor as I can, but he takes one leap as I open my arms to release him and jumps onto the floor. I exclaim to Katie about the fact he will seriously hurt himself one day and watch as Leo promptly shifts into his cage and sits in the corner.

The next morning, we awake and come downstairs for breakfast. Leo is in the same position as he was the previous night, something was wrong. Katie opens the cage door and Leo attempts to jump out, except he has no control over his front legs, the fall must have caused more damage than we thought. It seemed that when Leo was attempting to get out of my arms, he pushed with such force that he overcompensated and felt the full impact on his neck. He held on for a couple more minutes, until he could no more.

As you can imagine, I was feeling plenty of guilt for what happened, as much I wasn’t a massive fan of rabbits, I certainly am not one for killing them. The problem with Leo was that he was such a big rabbit, I was inexperienced in transporting them and with his determination to get out of my arms as I was lowering him into his cage, he contributed to his own downfall.

That evening I dug a huge hole in the garden and made sure he was deep enough for the foxes to not take an interest, meanwhile Katie looked at other rabbits to stop her little heart from breaking.

Fast Forward 2 Weeks

I get a text message from Katie telling me that outside her work, someone had left a huge black bag with strange noises coming from it. A co-worker looks inside, only to find that some evil b*stard has thrown six kittens, four baby rabbits and a dead rabbit mother into it.

They bring the bag indoors and place the animals in warmer surroundings but slowly over the day the kittens all slip away. By half past four there is only one rabbit left. The RSPCA tell them they can’t do anything with it, so guess what happens next?!

Everybody, meet Bob.

After bringing him home, terrified and with very little chances of lasting the night, he was put into Leo’s old cage and given food, water and a warm place to sleep.

What did the plucky fellow do? Yeah, he survived. That rabbit has guts. He is now firmly ensconced in the pecking order between me and the cats.