Tuesday, 27 March 2007

Cats

We have three cats:


Molly Fasavalu-Bloom

Molly, the eldest (5.5 Y/O), a white, chocolate and brown housecat who will sell her soul for chicken and if that doesn't work she demonstrates more cunning than a bag full of electric weasels in getting it. She prefers tandoori chicken (who doesn't) as I found out leaving mine unattended for twenty seconds whilst going to the fridge to get a beer. She sometimes ventures out onto the patio but generally just follows me and P-H around, presumably to make sure that we don't have any chicken without her having her share. I originally had Molly and her brother Isaac, from the rescue centre when they were six months old, but sadly Isaac died from the FIP retrovirus six weeks later. She is soft, floppy, cuddly, clumsy and generally scared of her own shadow. She is the Alpha Female at home though. She generally sleeps on P-H's feet and P-H was the only girlfriend (now my wife) that I brought home that Molly actually warmed to. Maybe it's their mutual like of tandoori chicken that brought them together.


Cain F. de Souris

Cain is the youngest (1.5 Y/O), he is a shorthair mackeral tabby, who we got from a vet as a discarded kitten. He is spoiled and indulged and generally bosses P-H and I around despite our best efforts to the contrary. He is more or less fearless and intrepid but an incident with a large dog and car when he was smaller have rendered him unlikely to go near either. He can eat his own bodyweight in food and kills more wildlife than a team of Brazilian loggers. We pretty much get small mice and voles as presents from Cain every day, but for variety he's brought home a rabbit, a wood pidgeon which was nearly as big as him, and someone's very expensive and very dead Koi Carp. He regularly stalks the rugby ball in the back garden for practice and if he was an inch longer he'd be able to open the back door. He pretty also much has figured out how to open windows and loves sneaking into the neighbours house. Well he is from Liverpool. Cain was named after the Liverpool Brewery in honour of another kitten P-H and I had called Stella who was named after a session in the pub. Stella was a rescue kitten who was full of ticks when she was brought in and had a leaky heart valve to boot. The vet didn't expect her to live the month, but she lived happily with P-H and I for nearly eighteen months. She is currently chasing dressing gown cords and scratching under the sofa in kitten Valhalla. Cain sleeps mostly on P-H depending on whether Molly feels like sharing her.



Dylan Thomas

Dylan is our middle cat (4.5Y/O). He is mostly black with white socks and chin and had spent pretty much all six months of his life being abused or in a pen at the rescue centre before we got him. He is pretty scaredy as a result, but once he gets used to you he will tolerate you. He sometimes lets you pick him up and he both protests loudly and purrs loudly when you do so. He isn't scratchy but he will run from sudden movements. He is very vocal and he'll let you know when he wants something, like food generally at six AM on a Saturday morning. Somtimes he will get on the bed, but mostly he sleeps in his basket. Dylan was named after my favourite author Dylan Thomas. Stella was his soul mate and he pined like hell when she died. Cain has taken this role subsequently, they can regularly be found cuddled up in the basket in front of the fire.

I've had a few other cats as well. Aslan and Leo were rescue kittens who where born with Feline Leukemia retrovirus as their Mum was presumed to have been a stray. I had them for 18 months or so. They are currently eating buttered corn cobs and chasing fish on sticks in kitten Valhalla. Polly was a black mature female rescue cat. She was a ferocious hunter and had a feral streak in her as her previous owners didn't care much for her. She currently lives near Bristol with two other cats, Jacob and Saffy.

Wednesday, 21 March 2007

Dad's Photos

My Dad has an old scrapbook with lots of photos in it taken either by him or of him between 1943 and 1947. Below are selection. He's the one with the bandages on his head in the photo below.


Rome, July 1944

There is one hell of a story behind this photograph. On the 10th June 1944, they'd travelled all day in a convoy of trucks to a place called Civita Castellana just on the front line, to setup an airstrip and meet my Dad's planes. As they arrived they were spotted by a German forward observer who called his artillery down onto their trucks and onto them. Several trucks were destroyed by direct hits and men scattered, running for their lives as a lot more fire hit their new position. My Dad managed to find a shallow depression to shelter in along with three of his comrades. A shell landed four feet behind them. Unluckily for my Dad the shell fragments hit his head and his neck, knocking him out for a few seconds, deafening him and leaving a two inch long spike of searing hot metal embedded in the soft tissue of his neck. He still has specks of blue metal in his neck and ears to this day. Two of his comrades also in the ditch, his Corporal and an R.A.F. airman attached to the regiment were killed instantly. The third, his friend Denis 'Trapper' Moreten died later in the aid station that he and my Dad were evacuated to on stretchers on the bonnet of a commandeered Italian vehicle. My Dad was then flown to hospital in Naples in a C47 where he recouperated and was subsequently sent to Rome, where the picture above was taken. His comrades and his friend are buried in Lake Bolsena war cemetary which we visited in 2004. He was mentioned in dispatches for his couragous actions during this encounter. Kind of puts the meaning of a 'having bad day' into perspective. Told you it was one hell of a story.


Naples, March 1944


On the road, Italy 1944


Canadian Field Gun, Italy 1944


Burning Glider, Unspecified Italian Airfield 1944


Holland, April 1945


Holland, May 1945 (right)

I don't know who the lady he's with is. I don't think he cared too much either :-)


North West Frontier, India, Late 1946 (left)

At least our troops in Afghanistan don't have to fight the Taliban looking like Crocodile Dundee.


Back on the road, India, 1946


Hard at work, India 1946


India 1946

Friday, 2 March 2007

Happy 83rd Birthday Dad!



Happy Birthday to the best Dad in the World!

Thursday, 1 March 2007

Did I forget anything?

World Club Challenge Winners


Superleague XI Winners


League Leaders Shield Winners


Challenge Cup Winners


Lance Todd Trophy Winner


Man of Steel Winner


Young Player of the Year Winner


Coach of the Year Winner


BBC Team of the Year