You may ask yourselves the object of my correspondent’s displeasure as so far I’ve managed to denigrate everyone from Michael Jackson to Monica Lewinsky and cat lovers to mother-in-laws. Was it a disgruntled reader upset with the continual references to bodily functions or male genitals? Not quite. Were they offended by my childish efforts to crowbar in a penis gag at every opportunity? Nope.

    The focus of their displeasure?

    My grammar and swearing.

    Their specific bone of contention was “the unnecessary use of obscene language which degrades an otherwise amusing diary”.

    Fair enough. I appreciate that they took the time to write personally and shall focus on reducing the vernacular to an acceptable level so as to placate their delicate sensibilities. Or at least I’ll try.

    I’ll try really fucking hard.

    The other negative thing that happened in my life today was news that my brother-in-law will be visiting this weekend. In itself this is a good thing; we get on extremely well. He has a wicked sense of humour and is unbelievably intelligent (he has a PhD in Theoretical Chemistry) however, business commitments require a three-week stint in Bratislava and he needs someone to look after his cat.

    Sorry, I need to sit down for a while I come to terms with that statement before carrying on.

    There’s going to be another cat in the house.

    If the next couple of paragraphs are littered with spelling mistakes and syntax errors I apologise to my erstwhile detractor but my hands are still shaking.

    If the full-time feline inhabitant of the house sprang from Beelzebub’s buttocks, St. Francis of Assisi personally nurtured this one, but may have taken things too far. Last time we were given the job of cat sitting the animal it wouldn’t leave me alone.

    One night I finished the midnight freeroll, wandered up to bed, snuggled up next to Mrs. Snowman and discovered the cat was already there. Try as I might the damn thing wouldn’t move so I eventually gave up and left it under the blankets. When I awoke the following day it I felt a furry mass against the inside of my thigh; I didn’t remember the wife being this hairy. She wasn’t – the cat had found a nice warm spot between my buttocks and was happily sleeping.

    It looked like someone had shoved a Davy Crockett hat up my backside sometime during the night.

    When I fired up the laptop to surf the web, the cat would jump on me and sit on the keyboard. I couldn’t even find solace in the bathroom. I thought I’d escaped for a few quiet moments and read the newspaper. Thinking I’m alone, I’m contentedly sat on the toilet and the beast springs out from the bath and starts to play with a roll of toilet paper.

    And we’ve got cat-sitting duties until after Christmas.

    Tomorrow I shall spend the morning checking long-term vacancies at local hotels…ones that don’t allow pets.

    As you can imagine, this news didn’t put me in the ideal frame of mind for poker and I made the foolhardy decision to have a stab at the 2c/4c tables. Every time I saw a club it reminded me of the cat’s ears and I folded more flushes than lavatory attendant in an Indian restaurant. It wasn’t long before $8 had disappeared into accounts other than my own and I log off before my winnings disappear completely.

    Yesterday I briefly explored the notion of shamelessly flaunting myself for sponsorship. Maybe I should approach Korean Airlines, I think they cook cats over there and serve them up as a main course. Next years holiday was going to be a two-week break in Barbados but Seoul is becoming more attractive by the moment.

    It must be one of the few countries in the World where you can eat pussy in a public place without being arrested for indecency.

Starting bank:  $0