mostly david ephgrave

A cat is a useful pet to have when your home has insufficient heating.  They act as a living, buzzing hot water bottle, if that isn't too terrifying a concept. You can even trick yourself into thinking that their sitting on your lap is a display of affection, rather than a ruthless bid to rob you of your warmth. If you died of hypothermia, they'd find another, bleaker use for you; "It's the circle of life," as Tim Rice would put it (and he always bloody does).  I got up early this morning, after having laid awake for what seemed an eternity, unable to sleep. Within minutes, my cat had led me to the kitchen to show me where her food was kept; she's good like that. She then sat  on me for hours, while my storage heating system did its inept, puffy, stuffy, airblowy-yet-not-actually-warming-you- up thing. My flat was built in the late-1970s. I blame Thatcher for i t . S he probably laid the cornerstone ; the coi ffured , pogonpho bic bint.

It’s not often you find out your flat’s up for sale when your mum spots it in the local paper. I’m exaggerating slightly. My home isn’t actually on the market, or at least, not as far as I’m aware – though this small, niggling detail didn't prevent a picture of it from appearing in last week’s Comet, to illustrate a property of identical specifications that’s in the same block. Apparently, mine was the more photogenic of the two. Who am I to argue? After all, I live in it. Thank God I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate in the front window. (...not that I ever do.) It’s a bizarre mistake for the estate agent to make. It’s not just a picture of the front of my property that’s in the paper, but the side and the back as well. You'd only need a shot from above to build up a three-dimensional composite image.   If they’d knocked on the door to ask me, if I could have stood next to the building to give a sense of scale. I guess t...

Everything in my flat is falling apart at once; if not at once, in tiny increments. The first thing to falter was my kitchen door handle. A few months ago, it began its gradual decline in service. I now daren’t touch it, for fear it will come off in my hand (sexy) . It no longer has a purpose, save the potential for a slapstick moment. If I were a proper man, I’d fix it, but I’m not. Who needs access to white goods anyway? (...idea for a panel show.) The kitchen is fast becoming a no-go area. I’m not just referring to how you gain entrance. The oven light is broken. So is the one in the extractor fan. Every so often, a cupboard door comes off its hinges. It’s less a kitchen, more a Crazy Fun House. I opened my wardrobe the other day, minutes before leaving for a gig, for the top shelf to collapse, bringing the clothes rail down with it. I caught it all as it fell, having cat-like reflexes. It’s surprising how heavy all your clothes are when held collectively. My wif...