If Fifty Shades lived up to the hype I could forgive the dreadful writing but it isn’t sexy, it’s just depressing. How many times can you describe someone in exactly the same way? I get it, OK? Grey’s a Control Freak who’s control freakery is freakily controlling. I’m not thick. I understand. I don’t need to be told this every other paragraph. And why do the words Holy Crap and Holy Shit end every other sentence – really, apart from ten year old boys, who litters their thoughts with so many toilet references ?
No. Not sexy. Not Mummy Porn. Read Jilly Cooper if you want sexy, at least she can tell a cracking story.
I gave Fifty Shades of Drivel 140 pages of my time but I was already fed up and it was making things worse.
And why was I fed up? Because, apart from the disastrous weather we’re having, I am once again catless.
Bobby the Rescue cat has packed up her fur and moved out.
I’m not altogether surprised. She and Diesal had problems.
Diesal has only read the first two words of the labrador handbook:
1. Eat everything
He missed the critical next bit:
…. as long as it’s dead. Don’t make things dead in order to eat them.
This isn’t usually a problem with cats, he attempts to eat them, they smack him round the head a few times, he learns due respect.
The rescue centre thought Bobby would be well up to this task as she’d attacked every single one of the helpers at the cattery. Sadly, she hadn’t read the feisty cat manual;
1. Beat all other life forms into submission. If they are too big to eat, assume they are put on earth to provide you with food or comfort by whatever means necessary. If they fail to do this, treat them with withering disdain, they are of no use to you. You are a cat. You are afraid of nothing. You scratch the eyes of the face of danger. Especially when danger comes in the shape of a giant idiotic dribbling labrador.
In the five months she was here Bobby came downstairs twice. Both times when Diesal was asleep, and both times to tell me I’d have to get rid of the dog if I wanted her to stay.
I didn’t get rid of the dog. She didn’t stay.
So, catless and with reading material that made me want to poke my own eyes out with a stick, I turned to Facebook and found this:
Suddenly the world seemed brighter.
Thank you Jackie Morris.
It’s time to move on.
I let go Fifty Shades of Stupid and picked up the breathtaking ‘A Monster Calls’. And I can let go of Bobby. Another little monster will call.