Name That Cat

I just thought of an idea for a new game show, because I just realised that, even if I wanted to go to bed, I couldn't, because my bed has been taken over by a skinny tomcat called... well, that's just it. My cat doesn't have a name.

It's pretty much up to whoever's in the house to give him whatever name they want. So far, in alphabetical order, he's been called Bob, Bobby, Bobs, Cat, Cath, Chat, Mao, Robbo, Robert, Roberto, Robs and Socks. We haven't even had him three months.

At the moment, my least favourite is Socks, followed closely by Bobs. Up until recently, I pretty much called him Robbo, but the latest guest in our house started calling him Mao and it's kind of got stuck for me. Seeing as I mew at him anyway, to irritate him or something. How do you irritate a cat? It's difficult.

Anyway, any new ideas, send them to me.

I handled a puppy today. Probably not the best idea for someone who sees a dog and instantly wants to kill it, but it had escaped its house, and the owner was obviously struggling to get it back inside. I don't think the owner would have been keen if I'd let it run or just strangled it while I had the chance.

It surprised me how trusting it was. It felt really weird.

It's probably not dogs I hate; it's dog people. The people who think dogs have anywhere near as much value as humans. Well, they can lower themselves to that level, but they mustn't be surprised when I refuse to join them.

Then there's the people who let their dogs defecate in public spaces, and then don't clear it up.I'm sorry! Do these scum think the world owes them something? Do they think it's okay for them to leave actual faeces lying about in the sun for flies to breed in and spread disease? Or for small children to fall over in? (Actually, that's quite funny, so long as you don't have to clean the child in question.)

Next time you see one of these worthless, inconsiderate, expendable wastes of human flesh, tell them that they've dropped something. Do it for me, before I have an aneurysm.

Now it's time for the reviews. I've been revisiting a couple of things in the past few days.

First up, it was The Young Ones. 28 years on, it's still got a certain quality to it. It's a violent-slapstick, alternative comedy look at the nuclear family. Vyvyan will always be one of my favourite comedy characters. Unnecessary violence, the ability to eat everything and short bursts of incredible lucidity and possibly even genius (well, he is a medical student) make him absolutely brilliant. Also, everyone knows a Rick, the revolutionary who thinks Che Guevara is a Mexican restaurant.

I think I'm more of a Neil myself. He's calm, passive, keeps the place neat and tidy. He's the mother figure. That's just me all over. I'm well into peace and love and lentils and the rest of it.

I hate Mike, because he's pointless. He's supposed to be cool, and respected, but he's more of a loser than the rest of them. Aside from Mike, the other bad points were the talking scenery, which I don't think works anymore, and the dwarf in the episode 'Boring'. Dwarves just aren't funny, especially not when they're painted. In fact, they're rarely not.

Though, aside from the mindless violence and cute destruction of even the fourth wall, there is one last redeeming feature: the music. We need music back in sitcoms. Hell, we need Madness back in sitcoms, and not just doing adverts on GOLD. The Young Ones gets 4 stars.

I also re-watched Sherlock Holmes, the Guy Ritchie film. That took me by surprise, because I didn't like it. Everything I loved about that film, it turns out, is just Arthur Conan Doyle, and okay, a nice bit of bromance. There's my point though: get lost, Irene Adler! Mary's not much better, but at least she knows her place. It's not her fault she's just not pretty.

I think the issue Ritchie was always going to have was making a good film without gratuitous swearing or violence. That's what made Lock, Stock so brilliant: in particular, a joke involving the c-word that I won't repeat here.

Oh, it's clever. But nowhere near enough, not after seeing the BBC adaptation, not after reading the books and knowing what can be done. I think the trouble was, I hated the bad guy. Really, you've got to love the bad guy, and hate yourself for it. Blackwood was ugly, and we never saw enough of Moriarty.

Now, Moriarty was something the BBC did oh so well. That line, "Westwood." It just gets me. The film though, 3 stars, though I await the sequel with interest.

Oh, what else? Ah yes. Come Dine With Me. The narrator's mellowing, as are the guests. Bring back the bitching! This week, someone nearly vommed listening to an anecdote about phlegm, and someone else was made to cry. It's not enough! Daggers out, please! Two stars.

Oh, arsehole of the week: bloke who bought the violin I was trying to buy at a flea market for £12 and refused to sell it to me for any less than £30. May everyone urinate haphazardly on his shallow grave.