FURTHER RECONSIDERATION.
The cat Shadow yawned.
"I've been thinking about it and it lacks subtlety," he said.
"What does?" I enquired with all the naivety of one who really should know better.
"Your new faeces thingy title," he said. "It ain't subtle, it ain't particularly clever and it ain't appropriate to most of what you write."
"And you, of course, have thought up something better," I sniffed.
"As a matter of fact I have," he replied. "Something much better."
I was nettled: "All right, clever dick, spit it out."
"You should call it Watching From The Cat's Eyes," he said, and eyed me expectantly.
"Oh, come on," I grumbled. "You want me to put your eyes in the title now?"
He grinned: "No, not mine y'daftie, the ones in the road; the cat's eyes old Percy Shaw patented."
I blinked; wondered how he came to know the name of an eccentric Yorkshireman whose brilliant invention must have saved millions of lives; concluded I need not ask; said: "O.K. I'm interested. What's your reasoning?"
"Well cat's eyes sees all the passing traffic, don't they?" he said and, before I could reply, hurried on: "But they sees it in a special way: they don't just take in the facade, they sees the muck underneath. I reckon you mostly sees things that way, too."
What a cunning old cat. If you want to convince a man, flatter him.
"Hmm. You could be right," I found myself saying, "but the title really has only just been changed, hasn't it..."
"Never mind that," he interrupted impatiently. "If you're not happy with it, change it again."
"I think this is more a case of you not being happy with it," I said. "I'm only concerned that the nice people who usually look in might get fed up with all this mucking about and give up altogether, or just not be able to find it."
"The word Watching will find it," he said airily. "And don't underestimate the nice people: they might wonder what the hell you're up to, but they'll not be too bothered by the trivia of changing titles. They've had to put up with that bloody pair in the American Presidential campaign for weeks. Anything's an improvement on that."
"You've convinced me," I said. "In November I'll change the title to Watching From The Cat's Eyes."
"Good for you," he said.
On his head be it.
TELEVISION.
I watched:
The last ever Great British Bake Off on the BBC. Doubt I'll ever watch Bake Off again.
The Walking Dead: season seven, first episode, was almost as vicious as the American Presidential campaign. I may never watch Walkers again, either.
What?
Oh, none of us will be able to avoid watching that bloody pair in America.
What are they thinking about over there?
In the meantime, over here next month I'll be
WATCHING FROM THE CAT'S EYES
The cat Shadow yawned.
"What does?" I enquired with all the naivety of one who really should know better.
"Your new faeces thingy title," he said. "It ain't subtle, it ain't particularly clever and it ain't appropriate to most of what you write."
"And you, of course, have thought up something better," I sniffed.
"As a matter of fact I have," he replied. "Something much better."
I was nettled: "All right, clever dick, spit it out."
"You should call it Watching From The Cat's Eyes," he said, and eyed me expectantly.
"Oh, come on," I grumbled. "You want me to put your eyes in the title now?"
He grinned: "No, not mine y'daftie, the ones in the road; the cat's eyes old Percy Shaw patented."
I blinked; wondered how he came to know the name of an eccentric Yorkshireman whose brilliant invention must have saved millions of lives; concluded I need not ask; said: "O.K. I'm interested. What's your reasoning?"
"Well cat's eyes sees all the passing traffic, don't they?" he said and, before I could reply, hurried on: "But they sees it in a special way: they don't just take in the facade, they sees the muck underneath. I reckon you mostly sees things that way, too."
What a cunning old cat. If you want to convince a man, flatter him.
"Hmm. You could be right," I found myself saying, "but the title really has only just been changed, hasn't it..."
"Never mind that," he interrupted impatiently. "If you're not happy with it, change it again."
"I think this is more a case of you not being happy with it," I said. "I'm only concerned that the nice people who usually look in might get fed up with all this mucking about and give up altogether, or just not be able to find it."
"The word Watching will find it," he said airily. "And don't underestimate the nice people: they might wonder what the hell you're up to, but they'll not be too bothered by the trivia of changing titles. They've had to put up with that bloody pair in the American Presidential campaign for weeks. Anything's an improvement on that."
"You've convinced me," I said. "In November I'll change the title to Watching From The Cat's Eyes."
"Good for you," he said.
On his head be it.
TELEVISION.
I watched:
The last ever Great British Bake Off on the BBC. Doubt I'll ever watch Bake Off again.
The Walking Dead: season seven, first episode, was almost as vicious as the American Presidential campaign. I may never watch Walkers again, either.
What?
Oh, none of us will be able to avoid watching that bloody pair in America.
What are they thinking about over there?
In the meantime, over here next month I'll be
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