I was having a quiet morning here, when the bloody Meeja turned up again.

I am sick of television stations and radio stations arriving on the doorstep looking for interviews, so I told them to fuck off.

But then I noticed the interviewer.

As TAT would say – “Grrrrrrr!”

I invited them in.

Of course they ran amok running cables all over the gaff and blowing fuses, but while the crew were installing the equipment, it gave me a chance to “interview” the interviewer.  She was gorgeous.

Our K8 picked a very inopportune moment to call around just then, so I told my new friend to interview her instead.  She hadn’t much choice, so she agreed.

It was a live interview, so I went out into the garden while they were doing their stuff.

One of the neighbour’s cats was perched on the window sill, so I shot him with my air pistol [I don’t like killing animals], and the howl could literally be heard throughout the eastern half of Ireland. 

When the interview was over, I went back in.  They weren’t very pleased with me and my feline exploits but I didn’t invite them here.

I haven’t a clue what they interviewed K8 about.  I don’t really care.

I have the interviewer’s email address,

and phone number.