Apart from the constant stream of sirens along the road all night and the hovering of helicopters overhead, it was a pretty quiet night in Hackney Town. The sun even shone, which made going home slightly less daunting that's for sure.
The most worrying event of the evening seemed to be that the looting atmosphere rubbed off onto me. And I am ashamed to confess that I tried to loot a kitten last night. Or Kitnap it if you prefer. What is more peculiar than the fact that I, completely out of character I might add, tried to steal something, the thing is, I don't even like cats. Or kittens. I find them far too scratchy, arrogant, and generally not very nice. However, there was definitely something in the air which is my only explanation for my actions.
The Wig and I were sitting in the garden, sharing a Magners and putting the world to rights, when from out of the vegetable patch, a small fluffy kitten emerged. Normally when a cat appears in the garden we shoo it away to prevent it crapping on our courgettes, but this kitten was mesmerizing. It jumped about all over the place even jumping onto The Wigs shoulder like some sort of hairy parrott. It was VERY cute and I've never said that about a cat before. Ever. And then I thought, if everyone else is stealing things that doesn't belong to them, whey can't I? And it didn't have a collar on, so maybe it didn't belong to anyone anyway. . .?
So last night while the rioting and looting continued up and down the country, I attempted to loot a Kitten from the garden with a tin of John West sardines in tomato sauce. I managed to lure it to the bottom of the stairs, which took quite some time and considerable patience, but then it hopped off into the neigbours hydrangea. TEASE! This just proves my point. Cats are bad news.