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a long time since we've done some female bonding.'

'I'm sure you don't need to go to Japan to bond, can't you do that underwater diving or at a zoo or the Bermuda Triangle or something? And Ms Foghorn, BSC, Dip Stick, University of Dunghill, where do you get off laying down the law to me!! I think it's time you just ...

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went away..to Chungking or somewhere..but leave me and Rosie alone..' 

Later, Rosie tried soft soaping me, telling me how this lucky ticket to Osaka airport came about via the nous, acumen, and spirited dexterity in quizzes, of Fiona.

Fiona this, Fi that, Fiona the other..all day every day she droned on .

I rang Freddie Gimmick, and we arranged to meet at a pub called the Rancid Sock,  in Bow.

Run by Frank Fernackapan, the Rancid Sock definitely lived up to the name. The stench of bodies and soiled, rank,clothing, was....

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overpowering. But the beer was cheap and since I was shouting, this was the main factor.

'Now let's get down to business, Freddie,' I said when we were settled in a well ventilated area of the pub,  a frothy warm beer in front of us. 'What sort of figure are you thinking of as an investment in our very profitable enterprise?'

'Of course, I'd have to see your books and show them to my accountant. But anything up to five hundred.'

I choked on my beer, 'Fi ... fi ... five hundred thousand?' I stuttered.

'No, you dunderhead! Five hundred dollars! Do you think I'm...

 

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..made of cash? See these jeans..?..these bladdy jeans  cost me a tenner down Clapham way.. I bet you're rolling in money..I think 500 quid of cat food, perhaps a couple of rattles plus a cat chasing pen light , ought to get you on my side..'

' I need about ten thousand to vaguely improve our facilities...'

' I will do a crowd funder..'

'Mr Gimmick, do you have 🐈 cats?', I asked. 

'Well I don't dislike them but you see my granny Ethel, she had a grouchy old tom and we didn't see eye to...

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... well, toe really. When he came hurtling at me like a crazy ball of fury, he accidentally made contact with my steel-capped boot. Hurt like hell. I swear he dented my boot. Head like a rock. He didn't even pause, clawed his way straight up my leg and spat in my face. God rest his soul.'

'So what makes you want to invest in OUR business, Frederick?'

'I thought that would be obvious ...

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....I want to offer recompense to the world of 🐈 cats, for wrongs done in my parst. Gimmick by name..'

Plonker by nature, thought I, devising a fine scheme here.

' Good, let's talk some more on Tuesday next at Looby Lu's animal paradise', I said, gleefully. 

'Oh incidentally,  there will be plenty of remuneration for your efforts, Gimmick', I declared, slapping him so hard on the back that his glasses fell into his stale pint.

Hours later, I rang Priscilla CatsClaw, running the Looby Lu's animal paradise.

'We've got this lemon hoping for a share of the profits at our cat cafe and he is a vile creep. Tell Looby to be ready next week..dressed for the occasion', I said, hoping Looby didn't think I had a body to bury or anything, as I had an aversion to the sight of shovels.

Next 

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week, bright and early (well, early anyway, it was an overcast sort of day, threatening rain) I rolled up to Looby Lu's and there was Gimmick waiting, all excited and expectant like.

'Well,' he said, 'what have you got lined up for me?'

'Just you wait and see! But let's have a little snifter first.'

Priscilla had popped a couple of sleeping pills into his drink so now all we had to do was ...

 

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ensure the completion of the plan. I had informed  Looby of the slimy Gimmick and his dislike for all things 🐈 cat. 

Looby, though passing muster as a registered nurse, mental health, no previous convictions, had got away with tipping a cold cheese flan and chips, over her husband in St Walts hospital,  Dulwich, in 1998. The circumstances 

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surrounding this altercation were hushed up, so there were no repercussions. 

It was the work of a moment to strip Freddie to the waist, dress him in a purple and pink tutu, pop a pair of cat's ears on his head and bundle his floppy, unresisting body into the car. Checking we had handcuffs and plenty of fish, we headed for ...

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discovering, when he came to, that he was handcuffed to a lamppost and was surrounded by a group of jeering and mocking youngsters. We'll leave him there, suffice it to say he was released some time later by a passing policeman, but he never dared show his face at Johnny and Rosie's Cat Cafe. Lesson learned.

Time to ...

 

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move on to the Japan saga . I was more than disappointed that Rosie was being snatched from me at a critical time in the trajectory of our cat cafe: me, strong, resolute  [weak, vacuous], full of plans [drifting], and she goes and prepares to travel to Osaka. 

Five weeks later, Rosie and Fiona were at Gatwick, boarding a flight to Japan.  ✈️  They stopped off at Dubai for three shopping hours half way, and landed at Osaka at 6pm on a Monday. 

'Which queue for Britons?', asked Fiona, waving at a man in a uniform. 

An uncomprehending shrug in return was met by pangs of doubt in Fi.

'Excuse me..which queue for arriving Britons?', asked Fiona, waving at a small old lady who was tidying up....

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lolly papers, orange peel, chip packets and other bits of detritus careless people had dropped. She was shaking her head and muttering to herself unintelligibly but stopped when Fiona addressed her. She pointed to a long queue snaking off into the distance, so the girls joined the end resignedly. Unfortunately ...

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it soon became evident that everyone in the queue were European Union members, and thanks to Boris, Fiona and Rosie were not.

As the left the EU queue, Hiro Horohito, a staff member in a blue cap, asked,  'ikaga nasaimashita?', which, for all the world, may as well have been in Martian, not Japanese,  since Fiona...

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's sole grasp of the language stalled at konnichiwa and sayonara and even then was very vague to their meaning. She tried them out now in an unintelligible accent. Hiro just shook his head and muttered something under his breath which loosely translated to 'these foreigners are bonkers'.

They plodded on searching for customs, dragging their overweight suitcases, one of which had lost a wheel and the other now sporting a broken handle. Fiona was starting to get tetchy and Rosie began to wish ...

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about offering a very good rate for exchanging GBP into yen, and that cheered Fiona up, but Rosie didn't think it was a very good idea. She said they should go through official channels, but Fiona ignored her and did a deal, which ended up ...

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with Fiona carrying a huge wad of euros, but Rosie wondered why euros. We are upright Britons, thought Rosie, we exchange currency into pounds and pounds only, we're really nor into this ' yoolo' business..not a single iota of it. 

' Excuse me sir, we only deal in English currency but this gent handed us euros: as good English roses, we find it reprehensible to be seen as idiots.'

Suddenly a suited student, Mamelito Hariohito, from Umeda, 23, said ' but ladies, please note. Welcome to our beloved Japan ❤️  . Never will we decry, defame, denigrate,  deny or despise

 

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our beloved and revered visitors. Let me assist you in rectifying your unfortunate mistake.'

'I didn't make any mistake,' muttered Fiona.

'I TOLD you not to use that dodgy looking guy, it's your own fault,' hissed Rosie. 

We will leave them bickering away there and get back to more important subjects ... namely me.

Left all alone, I was manfully coping with everything at home by myself. Not only the running of a hectically busy cat cafe (three customers today), but I had to organise to have my laundry, cooking, dishes, bed-making and cleaning all done. It was enough to ...

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make a grown man cry. Have you seen Frank Spencer?

Well I can assure you, 'Betty', you nearly did. Harassment and trabble for a grown man...

I rang Gertie Flipp, 54, a seamstress from Ealing,specialising in buttons, laundry, and antique sewing machines.

' Well..come along to 1 Portofcall Rd, 

Streatham , and I'll take....

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in your washing, dearie. Any mending needing doing or buttons sewing on, I'll be happy to oblige.'

That solved one problem. Now there was just the cooking, cleaning, dishes and someone to make my bed. Perhaps I could ask Dolly, a sweet girl who came in voluntarily to help with the cats?

'Well, Mr Revolting,' she said shyly, 'I COULD try, but I haven't really done those things very much. I'm responsible at home for car maintenance... oil changes, new fan belts, checking points and plugs, overhauling the motor, those kinds of things.'

'Well, we don't have a car, so give it your best shot.' And I left her to it. 

I had a pressing appointment with ...

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Keiff Thief, 24, a solicitor based in Brixham,around the thorny issue of hedges, hedge maintenance and revamp.

You see, dearest reader.[.yes you..),Mr Steve Bindweed, 36 , lived adjacent to our pristine cat cafe, and he took it upon his nosy self to report me to the council. 

Everything was going well until he saw Tuppence the tuxedo tabby, dropping her tuppence all over the hedge; to complicate the issue,  Tuppence hissed at Bindweed's dog Bluto, and  shot a stream of wee against Steve's garden gate. Not one to be outdone, black cat Felix decided to roll on Steve's lawn,knocking a glass of chilled pilsner over, and also....

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did some unmentionable things to Mrs Bindweed's bed of prize petunias.

Keiff said the only solution was to surround the 'peripheral extremities' with cat proof fencing.

When I asked how much that would set us back, he said he knew a bloke who'd do it on the cheap as long as I didn't ask too many questions.

Unlike my nosy neighbour, I was far too busy with my extremely heavy workload since Rosie had deserted me and gone gallivanting off, to go poking my nose into other people's business.

'Well, give us a quote and I'll ...

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proceed to forget about it', I said, more worried about Rosie than Mr Bindweed and his begonias.

Dolly presented her rather fetchingly  lovely face at the kitchen.

'Mr Revolting,  I have finished cleaning and I would like a custard cream', she said, holding 

 

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a very wet and bedraggled looking feather duster in one hand and a plunger in the other.

'Yes, I'm sure a few custard creams are the order of the day. I've been hard at it, so put the kettle on sweetie and make us both a nice cup of tea. Strong, hot and sweet for me. And then you can tell me all about what you've been doing.' I was actually a bit worried about what she'd been doing, given the equipment she was carrying.

'I'm sorry Mr Revolting, but ...

 

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