Life beneath the table

I write from beneath the kitchen table awaiting the end of the world and wishing I'd gone to the loo first. Space is limited - we have a pedestal table in the kitchen and whilst I could have set up camp beneath the desk in my study which in considerably bigger, that space is known as 'Tybalt's Pad' and he takes a very dim view of anyone encroaching on his cushion space. Cats are territorial like that, you know. I could have opened up the kitchen table to its full stretch to give me more space but the last time I tried to do this single handed I trapped three fingers in the extension mechanism and it really hurt. Andy has gone to work and says he will be home in plenty of time to spend quality moments with me before we all get blown to smithereens. I can't help thinking he is being rather blase about this issue.

I made shortbread for my mum and aged aunties who visited for coffee this morning and they swooped on it like locusts so there are only 3 bits left. I've got them under the table with me,(the remaining shortbread, not my mum and aunts although they did seem obsessed with talking about their funeral arrangements as they supped their coffee. I am assuming this was a coincidence), along with some carrots and raspberries harvested from the allotment last night for Vitamin C and fibre, candles for light and warmth, tissues because I seem to be getting a bit of a cold and the address for the letters page at the Daily Mail because if we're all still here tomorrow and I've spent a night on a cold kitchen floor for nothing, I'm going to have some pretty strong words to say about it all.

I've also got a couple of paracetemol. I anticipate the end of the world is going to be quite loud and I can't imagine anything worse than wandering the wastelands of ex-planet earth with a nasty headache.

So far, it's all been rather tedious. I've been half listening to Radio 4 and people (by people I mean men - us women are all hiding under kitchen tables because we are sensible) have been getting far too excited about what's going on under this 27 mile cheese mountain in Switzerland. Not content with putting holes in black socks, the giant tumble dryer seems intent on recreating the dog particle. Apparently, when the universe was created with the first big bang, lots of atoms whacked into each other and many types of dogs were formed. And this is what scientists are trying to recreate. Why we need more dogs is beyond me. Chickens, that's what we need. And a re-run of the original Basil Brush show, not the pale imitation currently on TV.

I might pop out in half an hour if it looks like nothing is going to happen. My left leg's gone dead and I can see from where I'm sitting that the post man has been and delivered the lastest copy of the National Trust magazine. We're members you know. I bet they don't approve of this end of the world malarkey, either.