Whew! What a Day @ No 10!

I thought the world had gone mad, last night.  There were crowds of people walking passed Downing Street at 2 o'clock in the morning.  Some had small tents and sleeping bags with them.  Others were dressed in Union Jacks.  A Welshman, waving a Red Dragon flag, was singing his head off!  Boy David didn't get to bed till late, he'd gone down Whitehall after dark!

Arturo said,  "It's 'Wedding Fever'.  These humans go a little potty when there's a wedding to attend - but a 'Royal' wedding - well, you can imagine!"

Arturo and I decided to potter along Whitehall too.   Sure enough, people were camping out on the pavements.   It was great for us though.  There were three open sardine tins with some sardines left in them!  Very tasty!   People were singing and laughing and generally having a good time.  There were no dogs!  So it was even better.

Then, this morning, everyone was up so early!  Boy David tried on his morning suit and shook his shoulders.  He glanced at himself in the mirror and seemed satisfied!  Samantha looked good in a bluey-green dress.  She had a fantastic orange scarf which would be terrific to chase after.  I bet Larry's had his eyes on that!  Then, Nick Clegg, wailing lad himself, came by, he looked quite dashing, I must say.  Very smart indeed and very cheerful. Then - along came is wife, Miriam González Durántez.  Wow! and Wow again!  I have never seen anything like it!   Black turban and bright orange display!  It was like a Spanish flamenco dancer's outfit.  It was, as Arturo said, 'truly stunning'.

We didn't get to see much else though.  We heard the bands - great!  We heard the clip-clop of the horses!  We heard the Abbey bells!  But that was about it.

Then afterwards came the street party.  I tell you, the spread made Arturo's eyes water.   The party's still going on as I write!  Arturo and I have high hopes that there'll be lots of scraps for us!

So - all in all - these wedding palavers seem like a good idea to me - can't wait for the next one!

Who needs to 'calm down,dear' @ No 10?

Although George thought PMQs in the Commons yesterday were one big joke, Boy David wasn't so sure. He guessed 'they' would be out gunning for him. And was he right, or was he right??

The newspapers were full of it this morning. Boy David completely lost his sense of humour. In fact, he scowled when he picked up the 'Guardian'. For there was not one but two articles. One from Angela Eagle herself. When Boy David saw that she compared him to 'Flashman', he went puce in the face! When he read that George was described as finding the incident 'hilarious', he was even more cross.

"What do they want from me?" he was heard to wail!

I thought to myself, it would be easy to whisper 'a bit of respect, dear'. But I thought that might be unwise.

The second article by Libby Brooks also upset him. This was particularly because of the picture in the article showing a smiling Boy David, himself. George roaring with laughter and a rather embarrassed looking Wailing Lad Clegg.

"Has no one got a sense of humour anymore?" Boy David said as he tasted one of Samantha's cup cakes.

Oh well, I thought, cheer up, David, you've got to get your glad rags ready for the big day tomorrow. No more 'calm down, dear,' in the Abbey!

-Can He do anything right @ No 10?

Even I felt sorry for Boy David today! You'd have thought the Easter break might have made life a tad easier for him. But I'd forgotten today was PMQs at the House.

He bounced down the stairs, this morning, bright as a button. He told everyone that it was a 'lovely day'. He smiled and had a general air of bonhomie! I quite warmed to him. No sign of his scheming side - just genuine satisfaction with life.

Arturo told me that Georgy from No 11 was equally well disposed to all and sunder. He said it was because Georgy thought the economy was going well. That's not what I heard, I thought. That chap, the one called Balls, had said the economy was still in a mess. But as Arturo and I agreed, if the two lads from Nos 10 and 11 were kept happy, who were we to spoil the party.

We both basked in the sun in the back garden, out of the wind. The baby birds were cheeping - this made me dribble with anticipation - but I did nothing because I fell asleep.

Then - bang, crash, wallop! The doors were slamming, voices were raised from inside. We slunk in - ever the curious ones, never wanting to miss out on a good story.

Boy David was red in the face. Quite florid in fact! George and Boy David were deep in conversation.

"What's wrong with what I said, George?"

"Nothing, old chap. Not as far as I could tell. No bloody sense of humour, if you ask me. Of course, women today are a bit more on their dignity, you know. Especially those ghastly left-wing women!"

"Eagle, you mean! Very witty, George, left wing! Get it? Left WING?"

George peered anxiously at Boy David and shook his head. "They're getting to you, aren't they? You mustn't let them, David."

"All I said to that annoying Eagle woman was 'calm down, dear'. She'd been positively ranting - quite rabid in fact!"

"She is shadow chief secretary to the Treasury. I suppose she was sitting on her dignity!"

"Haven't they watched Michael Winner's TV adverts? Don't they appreciate a joke?"

George shook his head mournfully. "Labour women don't have a sense of humour, David. If they did they wouldn't be Labour!" He chuckled to himself. "Come to think of it, Tory women don't have a sense of humour either! Maggie certainly didn't."

Boy David looked over his shoulder furtively. "You can't say things like that, George. Maggie wasn't a woman. She was a saint!"

George stifled a laugh. "Well, we know saints don't have a sense of humour! Still better be more careful next time, eh!"

Gobsmacked @ No 10

Arturo and I were open-mouthed with amazement! It was real shock and horror for us! The kitchen staff had left copies of the Sunday Press lying around. There before our eyes - big and bold - was a headline stating :

Larry the No 10 cat catches first mouse ... finally Downing Street's chief mouser snares his first prey after two barren months in the job

Now we knew that Larry was so stuffed full of smoked salmon and coronation chicken that he could hardly move - let alone catch a mouse - and never a rat! But we never thought anyone else was keeping an eye out for the 'big kill'.

It seems that on Good Friday whilst Arturo and I were traipsing back from the Albert Hall, Larry caught the small grey rodent and dropped it at the feet of one of Boy David's secretaries!

The report went on to say that Larry's strong predatory instincts had somewhat dulled since being at No 10! Predatory instincts! That's a laugh!

Anyway, someone gave our friend, Larry, a toy mouse to cavort with! A toy mouse, I ask you! It seems that training took place and the result was that one small grey mouse was caught! Now, Larry is an acclaimed hero.

Arturo and I were suitably disgusted. You could barely count our joint tally of rats! We've had big ones, small ones and yes indeed - one as big as your head!
Do we get publicity - no we do not. I'm beginning to feel more sympathy now with Wailing Lad, Clegg! I know how it feels to do the work and not be appreciated.

Now this is the deal ... @ No 10

The wailing lad, Clegg, arrived on the doorstep in time for a coffee with Boy David. He arrived via the back door. All very hush hush. I wouldn't have recognised him - excepting I smelled that Spanish aftershave he wears! No one else here uses it! So, I knew he was around even before I heard him. The rumour is that his wife, Miriam, insists he wears it to remind her of home.

I slunk into the large sitting-room and sat behind the settee. A silver tray bearing two cups of coffee and a plate of macaroons arrived. The cream for their coffee looked very inviting. I found myself dribbling and had to wash my whiskers.  Anticipation is everything, they say!

"I think it's working, Clegg,"   Boy David sounded quite cheerful.

"I should say so, David.  I think it's working a real treat!"

What was working, I wondered.   They certainly didn't seem to be straining themselves.  I could see no actual work being done.

"How long do we have to keep it up?"  Wailing lad, Clegg, asked.  "I'm not sure I can go on pretending to loathe you and detest George, not for much longer any rate.  Quarrels, even pretend ones, always get me down."

"Well, Clegg, that supporter of yours - you know the woman in the pub on the BBC news the other night - she said we had to appear have our differences."

"Actually, David, she said I should voice my differences with you!"

"Well, you have, haven't you? You disagree about the AV vote -  in fact, we couldn't be more apart!"

Boy David sipped his coffee, little finger slightly extended away from the handle of the mug - the true mark of a gentleman, as Arturo told me.  Clegg, on the other hand was clasping his mug in a rather desperate manner, I thought.

"I think we're going to win, you know." Clegg said.

Boy David nearly choked on his coffee. "What do you mean 'we're going to win'?  ,Either I win, more likely,  and you lose - or - you win, very unlikely,  and I lose.   We cannot both win."

"Ahh, David, you may be right but I seem to recall a saying, 'Even when you lose, you win!'"

"Wrong again, Clegg.  It's the infamous pathological gambler who said, 'Even when you win, you lose.'"

Wailing lad looked positively happy when he heard that.  "Great, David, so we'll both come out winners."

After Clegg had left, I saw Boy David scratching his head in puzzlement. Someone really must tell Samantha to get him to stop this bad habit. The small bald patch on the back of his head won't get any smaller, if he keeps doing that!   Every time Clegg comes here, Boy David seems more and more flumoxed!   How far can this go, I ask myself?

Quiet time @ No 10

Yesterday, Arturo and I were really quite mind-blowingly brave! We hitched a lift in the back of van conveniently parked outside the back of No 11. Arturo said it was going to The V & A museum. Marvellous! Exhibition Road was in a dreadful state! Road up and people milling round. Still, we made it to the side of the Albert Hall!

Why did we do that, you ask? Well, everyone knows that it's THE place to hear Handel's Messiah. I went on my own, last year. So I thought I'd educate Arturo, this year. We slunk in through a side door. No one noticed us at all! There was room for us on the top step of the circle! We positioned ourselves very well indeed.

There was a small boy near us. He got quite bored. However, in the second half when the Hallelujah Chorus started, he really perked up! He stood to attention and grinned. Then, when the trumpets sounded, he was delighted. It had all been worthwhile. His mother looked mightily relieved.

Arturo nearly jumped out of his skin when the trumpets played. Of course, I knew just what to expect. When I asked if he had enjoyed it. He said it was an experience1 To me, it was splendid. The choir and singers were brilliant and the conductor was amazing! I vowed to go again, next year with or without Arturo.

To return to Downing Street was more problematic than getting there! Too many dogs to go via the parks! Too many people to run along the pavements. We waited till dark, hitched a lift on an empty No 10 bus! Then, hopped on a No 12 and, as they say, 'Bob's your Uncle', we was back home!

Arturo was done in! He'd never been so far, or heard so much in one day! As for me, I was all hyped up too, so went ratting!

After two good catches, I decided to turn in for a kip! I settled down in the kitchen. There was an old 'Daily Telegraph' lying on a chair. I took a gander and my hair fair stood on end, I can tell you! Some jockey was moaning about the proposed ban on whipping of racehorses. He had written, and I quote:

Some people hold any horseracing cruel. We cannot think that in Britain, so loyal to racing, such an opinion will prevail. Racing is international, and a ban on moderate use of the whip restricts the sport here for no real benefit.

One thing about being a cat is that you're not dependent on humans! Not like dogs or horses! Any self-respecting cat can make out on his own! And I'm a self-respecting cat.

Only a few more days of the jolly old hols, as Boy David would say! Then, it's all back to the cut and thrust of politics! I'm going to enjoy the peace till Tuesday, at least.

Wailing & Tub Thumping @ No 10

This morning I woke suddenly to the sound of much moaning and groaning coming from the inner lobby. Naturally, I went to investigate! I found Sad Lad Clegg going on nineteen to the dozen at Boy David. He was bewailing the fact that 'You really aren't playing fair, David!'

Boy David had a thunderous look on his face. I thought, that Clegg lad had better watch it! But I was wrong. It wasn't the Sad Lad who was causing the irritation. As you will find out. This is something of how it all went:

"Now look, Clegg, I do see your difficulty, I really do! I know how important this AV vote is to you. I have no control over George and his mouth - so if he is rude, that's not my fault. As for your Paddy Ashdown - he's not exactly been brimming over with charm."

"Oh, I know, David. But we - that is the LibDems have to get a 'Yes' vote. We absolutely have to! Otherwise, I lose all credibility as leader. The Coalition will collapse - then we're all finished!"

I observed Boy David very closely. A wild glint came into those well-bred eyes, then vanished as quickly as it had come. A scheming chap, our Boy David.

Sad Lad Clegg did indeed look mournful. Those large eyes of his would make any mother weep! Boy David patted him on the back with many a 'Tut Tut!' and a 'Don't worry' and finally a 'Just you leave it to me'.

When he was alone, Boy David's worried look crossed his brows again. He picked up the phone and positively yelled: "George - what the hell is going on? You and I know bloody well that British taxpayers will go mad if they're told the UK has to give an extra £682 million next year to the European Union budget. We'll get the blame!" There was a pause. I heard a high pitched voice the other end. "No, you fool - us - the Tories - we'll be the fall guys." Another prolonged pause. "Well, you sort it, George. Remember you owe me!" Pause. "I've got better things to do. What? I still haven't decided what I'm wearing to the Wedding. So you get on with sorting out that bloke with the unpronounceable name. Yes ... that's him - Janusz Lewandowski. You just sort him out!"

To Tail or not To Tail @ No 10

You would think that Boy David and his wife, Samantha, were getting married all over again! Quite a tither as they say! What shall he wear to the Royal Wedding?

Yes - you did read that correctly. I didn't say, 'What will she wear? No, I said 'What will he wear?' The poor boy could not make up his mind. Should he wear
1. A Morning suit?
2. A Lounge suit?

Oh The palaver! You cannot imagine it, my dears! If he wears 'tails' then he'll be considered too posh! I ask you! Can you imagine Cameron being too posh?

Then, there were those from the pure old Tory party who declared that a Tory Prime Minister attending a Royal Wedding must - absolutely MUST be properly dressed and wear tails! He must not shame the party or the country.

Arturo and I discussed the matter at some length, as you can imagine! Tails or no tails? To a couple of understairs cats, like us, tails were in - if you get my gist!!

The strange thing is, I don't think the Boy David has realised yet that he isn't the bride! He thinks everyone will be looking at him! Of course, that's typical of an old PR man! Tremendous self-assurance and narcissism is theirs by right.

I think somebody should whisper in Samantha's ear and tell her to keep her man's feet more firmly on the ground.

"After all, darling," she should say. "Everyone will be looking at the bride."

I could have told him that. He'll be playing second fiddle to:
1. The Bride
2. The Dress
3. The Bridegroom
4. The Bride's Mother
5. The Bridegroom's Mother

... I could go on. I reckon, as does Arturo, that our Boy David could wear jeans and a tartan shirt for all that anyone's going to notice him. But just try telling him that.

Oh no he won't! Says PM @ No 10

Three cheers for the Beeb! Our beloved leader, Boy David, granted the Today programme the honour of interviewing him. Arturo told me that he thought someone had shown the PM the comments in this Blog about his favouring Murdoch's lot! I wonder!

Anyway, that nice Evan Davis did the interview. His problem is that he does get rather too excited and answers his own questions before the interviewee has a chance to open his mouth. Arturo told me that it's because he is far more clever than most of the people he interviews - including the PM and the Chancellor.

I thought that was funny really because you don't have to be that clever to be brighter than either of them. They just used their Daddys' money to get them where they are. Now, they're there - no one dares criticise them! But Evan Davis certainly had a good go - he found the whole thing really rather amusing. He has that endearing sort of giggle when he finds someone's answers rather stupid. John Humphreys gets cross but Evan Davis just laughts - which I suspect is even worse for wehoever is being interviewed.

Anyway, it got under the skin of our Boy David - you could hear him take in deep breaths and then just swallow hard to stop himself from sounding peevish. But his real 'nasty' side came out when he was asked about the possibility of Gordon Brown becoming head of the IMF. If it had been TV, you'd have seen his top lip curl up as he spoke Brown's name. He said he doesn't want a 'washed-up politician from another country' as head of the IMF. But he said, "if you have someone who didn't think we had a debt problem in the UK, when we self-evidently do have a debt problem, then they might not be the most appropriate person to work out whether other countries around the world have debt and deficit problems".

Wonder what he and his pal, George, will do when they are 'washed-up politicians'. Of course, that might well be sooner, rather than later - if the Coalition cracks apart.

Then, Arturo and I would have new bosses for whom we would have to keep the rats away - exciting life, isn't it?

Stinks @ Nos 10 & 11 Downing Street

Arturo came bounding in to the kitchen with great excitement! Not like him at all.

"Oh boy, old Georgy has gone and put his foot in it!" Arturo declared.

"Really, tell me more. He can't be worse than Lad Clegg or Invinceable Cable, can he?"

"He's talked to the Sun!"

"Lordy! Poor old Georgy! Gone mad, has he? Talking to the sky?"

"What you on about, Butch you old fool! 'The Sun' the newspaper belonging to Murdoch! The phone hacking lot, you know!"

"Ahh! Just as bad then. Anyway, what did he say?"

"He said, and I quote

What really stinks is one of the ways the Yes campaign is funded. The Electoral Reform Society – which is running some of the referendum ballots – stands to benefit if AV comes in because it could be one of the people who provide these electronic voting machines.That is exactly the sort of dodgy, behind-the-scenes shenanigans that people don't like about politics and politicians.

That's what he said and it caused a right old rumpus. Paddy Ashdown said he was 'throwing mud' and it was dirty tactics."

"That's politics, isn't it? He's a fine one to talk about 'stinks' - he makes a good few himself in his Press briefings. Why all the fuss? They all throw much worse than mud around! I've seen it and smelled it! "

"You are coarse, Butch! The fuss is because they're all supposed to love each other - Brotherhood of the Coalition - and all that!"

"Is that why Boy David was on Sky News then?"

"Just you listen," Arturo cleared his throat, "I learnt it off by heart. Georgy played it back at least five times. He was real attentive like. Boy David told Sky

'Whatever it is, the coalition government, I believe, will go on being a strong and effective government, and whoever is on the losing side, as it were, will just have to pick themselves up and say, 'it was a fair argument, a fair fight, a fair referendum, the country has decided, and now we have got to get on with all the things that matter so much'."

Arturo stopped, obviously waiting for applause from me for his brilliant recall. I didn't oblige. "Well, what do you think?"

"All I can say is it's typical lardy dah, old Etonian talk for 'Let the best man win - so long as I win!'. Anyway - why all this chumminess with Murdoch and his lot? I reckon Murdoch has got something on the Tories - so they give them all the choice interviews. What about good old Auntie?"

"Good old Auntie? What you on about?"

"Are you stupid, or just plain ignorant, Arturo? Auntie is the BBC - of course. These top Tories don't give the BBC any real tit bits, do they? Makes me wonder, I can tell you!"

Arturo got bored, he gets bored very quickly. He licked his paws, then rubbed his nose. "That's enough excitement for one day! I'm off for a prowl. Fancy coming?"

Since I had nothing better to do I joined him.

Song of the Humpback whale @ No 10

I was asleep dreaming sweet dreams - bowls of cream, succulent chicken, sardines - you get the general picture? Then, the hairs on my neck stood up on end! Ah Ha! Thought I, that means there's trouble. What's Boy David up to now! I woke and slunk away into a corner. Safest place, I thought to myself as I tried to find out what had so disturbed me.

Then, the sounds came again. Weird, melodic, haunting! Boy, did it give me the creeps. Arturo came tearing in through the window from next door.

"Did you hear that sound?" He was breathless and seemed alarmed, just like me!

"I heard it, Arty, old pal. What was it?"

We saw one of the long-legged secretaries come into the room. She turned up the sound on the radio. It was Radio 4 and some man was chauntering on about the Humpback whale and his music! Arturo looked at me:
"What's a humpback whale, Butch?" I shook my head, didn't have a clue.

"Whatever it is, Arty, I hope it don't come near Downing Street. It would drive my Boy David and your Georgy round the twist and they're pretty near that anyway."

Having said all that, Boy David has been talking sense for once. He says there's been too many immigrants! Well, I could tell him that - there's a Siamese cat across the road. There's a Burmese moggy two doors away. There's an Afghan hound who walks passed the door most days. Even worse, a German Shepherd dog sometimes comes sniffing round No 10 itself.

"Keep 'em all out", says I. "We need pure bred ginger Toms and English Setters round here!"

"Ummm .." Muttered Arturo, "with a name like mine, I'm in trouble then."

Pandemonium @ No 10

The usual chaos has returned to No 10. Only when Boy David is well and truly out of the way, do we get a moment's peace! Talk about shambolic! One minute it's defence of the realm; then it's being nice to Sarkozy time; next it's deal with that Lansley twerp; onto how to keep Clegg from weeping; ensure Theresa May keeps her mouth shut; check up on Georgy, next door! Enough to drive a sane man mad. problem is, was Boy David sane to start with, I ask myself.

Anyone so desperate to be PM, must surely, be more than halfway mad? Everyone knows that if you're normal when you enter No 10, within a very short time - you're a raving lunatic. Barely one of them has 'scaped unscathed. Don't know how old Reagan in the USA managed it!

Anyway - now our Boy David has opened yet another can of worms, as they say. he's going to fix the 'immigration issue'. Well done, do I hear you say. About time too! It's not quite as simple as it seems. The fanatics say he won't go far enough. The bleeding hearts say he's gone too far! The Universities are crying into their gowns - 'where's the dosh going to come from?' The LibDems are wailing that another election pledge will be broken.

It's all Oyveh! Oyveh! The wailing is all around us!

Being a sane cat, I'm creeping next door to N0 11 to have lunch with Arturo. I'm not daft!

Smoothing the ruffled feathers @ No 10

"Now look here, Clegg, you've got to pull yourself together and be a part of the team!"

"I don't need to pull myself together, I am a part of the team, David. You know that! I think what you think!"

"Hmmm ... I hope so! And as for you, Lansley! Change that disagreeable expression on your face. Smile, look confident but caring. When the bastards ask you a difficult question, just nod and look sympathetic!"

Lansley looked far from sympathetic! The silver foxy head looked positively miserable.

How do I know this, you ask. Well, I had found a nice warm spot near a radiator and curtain. This meant I could be behind the curtain but as warm as toast! The three reverse monkeys (see a previous blog!) sat together around a small coffee table. I was curious. Who were the bastards, I wondered? I thought I'd wait to find out more.

Boy David took charge, as usual, he's getting so very bossy these days! Even Baroness Deech said rude things about his arrogance! She said no one should talk about Oxford University, the way he did! I thought to myself, if she thinks that's his worst arrogance, then she should come and join me behind the curtain, some time! I'd explain it's going to Eton 'what done it!'

Anyway - back to the matter in hand - it seems the three of them were preparing themselves to greet and I quote 'representatives from the voluntary sector to share their views as part of the listening exercise on NHS modernisation.'

Oh! I thought to myself, that's a good one. 'Share their views' indeed! Who's Boy David kidding. He shares views with no one!

"Now look, you two, I've prepared my opening remarks. Tell me what you make of them:

I think your organisations, which are hugely trusted and understood by the public and by the users of your organisations, can help us to make the argument that change, that choice, that diversity, is not about privatisation, it’s about actually improving healthcare".

As he finished, I peeped at Clegg and Lansley's faces. They were positively glowing with ador ... sorry ... admiration!

"Oh, very good, David, don't you agree, Andrew?" Clegg visibly simpered his approval.

"Yes, very good, Prime Minister!" Lansley added with not such great aplomb but aplomb nevertheless!

"Well this 'listening exercise' is bound to engage them. We'll have them eating out of our hands in no time! And even if we don't, they'll be so pleased to have been consulted, they're sure to agree to everything in the end."

I peered closely at Boy David, at the narrowing of his eyes, the toss of his head and thought 'goodness being PM has really got to the boy! I wonder if he ever read 'Animal Farm'. He's getting a bit like Napoleon!

Well-Being @ No 10

"How are you, today, Arturo?" I asked my moggy pal from No 11.

"Ok, I suppose."

"No really, how do you feel within yourself? Are you happy? Moderately happy? Unhappy? Downright bloody miserable?"

Arturo looked at me as if I'd gone mad. "What's going on in your head, Butch. You alright, or what? I told you, I'm OK? Alright? If it comes to it - how are you? Think you should ask yourself that before going on at me. Or I will be bloody miserable!"

"Thing is Arturo, our Boy David, our supposedly bright PR boy of a PM is having a lot of people questioned about how they feel; what their well-being is; how happy they are."

"You're joking!"

"Nope, would I joke about such a thing as well-being? Everybody'd doing it, as they say. The Office of National Statistics is asking things like:

What things in life matter most to you?
Is there more to National Well-being than happiness? What else matters?
What things in life matter most to you?
Is there more to National Well-being than happiness? What else matters?

"

Arturo nearly choked himself laughing! I said nothing till he had recovered.

"So, what do you think?"

"I think it's bloody daft! One minute I'm happy, like when I've caught a rat. Then, I'm unhappy when the rat bites my nose. One minute I'm ecstatic when I smell cooked fish. The next I'm as miserable as hell when I see it's for Georgy's plate not my stomach! Like I said, it's bloody daft! And .... humans never know when they're happy, anyway!"

I pondered the situation most of the day. Was I happy, was I truly happy? Was I medium happy? Did I have a sense of well-being? Was I miserable?

But why would our Boy David want to know if the nation he ruled had a feeling of well-being? He's even got the NHS website telling people that

To find NHS services in England and get information on medical conditions and lifestyle advice, go to the NHS Choices website.

There you can find information on more than 850 medical conditions and treatments.

Now do I want to know that? No, I do NOT! I don't even want to think about 850 medical conditions! Now that would give me real bad feeling, I can tell you!

He's even got the Universities at it. They have a Wellbeing site on which it states:

In 2010 Higher Education faces increasing challenges. We believe that investing in staff wellbeing is more important than ever during these times of change. If you need resources and information, to learn from others about what really works or help to prove that wellbeing makes a real difference — we’re here to lead the way.

Isn't amazing how ideas spread! Dawkins would say it's a meme that's got out of control!

Personally - now listen folks - I have a theory. Our Boy David, never known for pure altruism, is using this as a cynical exercise to get the Big Society to remove the burdens from Government's shoulders ipso facto from HIS shoulders. In other words - just like the street party gig, of yesterday, it's a distraction from the right cock-up his Coalition is making!

Bye bye! I'm going to have a sleep - now that's what I call well-being.

Decoys @ No 10

Boy David and his pal, weeping lad Clegg, were in a huddle early this morning. I was behind the curtain, so they didn't see me. They were so engrossed, I doubt if I'd caught a rat in front of them, they'd have noticed.

"We've got to get the heat off the NHS!" Boy David said in authoritative tones.

"I could do with a little less heat on me too!" Lad Clegg wailed.

"Ummm!" Boy David muttered, not altogether gushing with empathy, I thought.

"So what's the big idea?"

"Can't go beating on about the 'Big Society', can we? What else is there? We need good news, something to take the people's minds off politics."

"But, we've got the votes coming up in May. Don't want to take their minds off that, do we?" Clegg squinted knowingly at Boy David. A look akin to suspicion crossed his young brow, then went again.

"There are a few difficult weeks before then, Clegg. We've got trouble with the banks; problems with benefits; issues over defence."

"I know! I know! But I've got it! I've got you a 'Big Idea'!"

"Spit it out then, Clegg. What is it?"

"The wedding?"

"What Miliband's?"

"Of course not, David. Just think about it. What do the plebs really love - a good 'knees-up', as they say. And what provides a good 'knees-up'? Why, anything royal. Have you forgotten about Will and Kate?"

"Golly, Clegg, you're right! Good thinking! I'll announce that we - that's the Coalition, want the great British people to celebrate the Royal Wedding."

"So who should we talk to?"

"Leave it to me, Clegg." Boy David patted him fondly on the back. It was amazing to see the lad respond. If, he'd been a cat he would have purred. He went away a happy lad!

Boy David was on the blower to his pals at 'The Sun', quick as a flash! He came out with some right prize lines, off the top of his head. I can remember some of them clearly:

There are already around 4,000 street parties planned across Britain and there's still time to organise many more.

Samantha and I will be holding one in Downing Street and bringing together local people and charities.

And my message to everyone who wants to have a street party is: I'm having one and I want you to go ahead and have one too.

So go on - bring out the bunting and let's make this a day to remember. For everyone.

He's good with words, is our Boy David. He knows how to catch the mood, as they say.

Can't say I was disappointed to hear there'd be a street party here at No 10! Great! Lots and lots of luverly nosh! Must tell Arturo, maybe even old Larry. Whatever the humans do, we'll certainly celebrate the wedding, in right royal style!

Big Beast gets in to No 10

"The Big Beast's coming!" was what I heard, just as I was scoffing some nice piece of chicken leg. Naturally, being no coward I went to have a look-see. I was cautious, mind you. Never can tell what a big beast might turn out to be, especially while the Boss and missus are still away. Larry would be no good at tackling a beast of any size, let alone a 'big' one. Arturo was dealing with the rats at No 11. So, it was all down to me!

I sidled along the corridors, sniffing as I went. No strange animal smells to be found. Then, I stopped in my tracks and sniffed once more! There was a smell, a very distinct aroma! It was a mixture of cigarettes, cigars and whisky! Actually, not such a bad smell, but really quite rare these days. I slunk along, close to the ground. I should have been more careful because, thoughtlessly, I bumped into a pair of well worn Hush Puppy shoes. I hadn't seen ones like these for years!

"Hello there!" A gruff voice said, "Who're you, then?"

I looked up to see a plump, red-faced man with a shock of greyish blonde hair. He was grinning at me. I don't like being grinned at. I arched my back and looked menacing. The man laughed. I rushed past into one of the secretaries' offices.

"Whatever is Clarke thinking of?"

"It's disloyal, isn't it?"

"Never been a team player, just ask Thatcher!"

"Big Beast indeed! Mr Cameron will give him Big Beast!"

There was veritable frenzy in the office. I crept behind a curtain and eavesdropped.

So, the man outside was the 'Big Beast'. I was disappointed. I'd expected a panther, at least! But the more I listened, the more interested I became. It seems this man had been causing trouble! He actually criticised Downing Street! He said, in private, that every time there was a whiff of trouble from the papers, Downing Street got the panics and back-peddled. He was particularly upset about the way the poor old silver Fox, Lansley, was being treated.

Then someone else said, "One whiff of gunpowder and Downing Street runs away. It is true, you know!" There were gasps and hushing sounds.

Then a female voice said: "Just listen to this, 'David is very short termist. Everything he does is about getting good daily headlines.' Oh, dear, Mr Cameron will be so upset!"

"Did you see the rest? They said that if you were an old Etonian, then you got away with it. If you weren't, then God help you. Or words to that effect!"

I slinked out of the office and followed my nose down the corridor. The 'Big Beast' was heading for the garden, so I followed. He sat on a bench and pulled out a cigar and lit up! A cloud of smoke filled the air! I watched him, he was grinning and tapping his fingers on the bench. Then, I saw he had his i-pod in his other hand. I crept closer, even I could hear the sounds, it was jazz!

I went into the shade and watched him. After all it was my duty to keep beasts away. Somehow though, this beast didn't seem in the least concerned about anything much.

Boy David will be livid when he gets back! Bad publicity does upset him so! You see, our PM is still very much PR to his very bones. A good PR man can't stand the thought of bad headlines. I wondered if the 'Big Beast' was what they called an old Etonian! Somehow, I don't think he is.

Weeping behind the door @ No 10

I said that it was all quiet yesterday, now that Boy David and wife are off for a celebratory jaunt. Well, I counted the proverbial chickens!

I forgot that while the Boss is away, his Deputy has the miserable function of standing in for him. And Deputy Clegg is not the man he once thought he was! There was a song one of my former owners used to play incessantly on his Walkman. It was so loud that I could hear it through his headphones. The song was something like 'I shot the Sheriff but I didn't shoot the Deputy ...' I didn't much care for it. However, when I saw and heard Clegg, I thought about it. He obviously thinks that the world is out gunning for him!

He has done nothing but moan, moan and moan since he arrived here. He said he's being used like a punchbag! Well, I thought, he's a politician, isn't he? Isn't that what all politicians are? No one really likes a politician, do they? We know they're all lying bastards in the end. Some manage to keep their halos a bit longer than most but, in reality, we know they never really say what they mean; or do what they promise. The last lot even robbed us blind. By us, I mean you, of course! As an alley cat, I get by whatever!

Clegg is a prize example of a man who didn't have to strive to climb the greasy pole! He was shoved right up to the top. Didn't have to do anything - just smile a boyish smile and simper a boyish simper! Then, things got a bit hot! He was amazed, so I'm told. Could not believe what was happening! Why wasn't he loved and showered with kisses?

Well, of course the Boss is also facing reality but he never started by being adored. Everyone recognised him for what he was, right from the start. A slimy ... Still, they say every dog has his day! I think the Boss and his Deputy will have a very short day. The Boss will have a longer day though. Why? Because he has a load of slimy, self-interested So-and-Sos behind him. If he fails, they fail and they won't have that!

Still, that day has not yet come! And today I have poor old Clegg looking like a shadow of himself. He even smiled at me! He bent down to stroke me. Could not believe it! Normally, I hiss and spit when someone goes to stroke me. I didn't have the heart! I thought I saw a tear in his eye, so I gritted my teeth and let him pat my back!

I thought about it later. Maybe if even this old alley cat feels sorry for Clegg, others will too. Maybe Boy David will offer him an ambassador's job to the US. That's more his cup of tea. Or more likely his glass of champagne. You see poor Clegg doesn't like heat and this kitchen is going to get very hot. As a better man once said 'If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!' Clegg, get out of politics, it's not for you!

To soothe my soul, I'm going rat catching with Arturo tonight!

While the cats away ....@No 10

Well, it's all peace and quiet for the next two days! Why, because Mrs Boy David will be forty next week. So the lad himself decided to take her away to Spain for a pre-birthday celebration!

Arturo said it was a good thing they hadn't arranged to go to Portugal! Now that would have caused quite a stir! Can you imagine the Portuguese headlines 'British PM fies in to save the Portuguese economy'. It's probably a week or two early for a visit to Spain to have the same impact. As it is, he flew out on a cheap flight, then merged with the crowd, so to speak!

At least it gives the 'pause' in the NHS reforms a real pause. Nothing - just nothing - will happen while Boy David is out of the country. Clegg is still feeling very sorry for himself. He says he doesn't want to be everyone's punchbag! And as for that silver haired old fox, Lansley, he's so tongue-tied with rage that he can't get his words out.

Arturo told me that the three of them sitting together looked like the three 'wise' monkeys in reverse. Boy David, saw evil; Clegg heard evil and Lansley spoke evil. You see, Arturo caught sight of the three of them sitting in the hallway: Boy David was rubbing his eyes; Clegg was scratching his ear and Lansley was yawning with a hand over his mouth. I told Arturo it was a pity that cats like us couldn't take photographs. He said it was lucky for Boy David that we can't!

So - like I said, it's all quiet here at No 10. Quite another matter at No 11. It's all manic there. Georgy running round in circles because of this Portugal thing! He dreads having to help bail them out! It will ruin his calculations and his image! Now, the European Central Bank has raised its interest rates, so he's not well pleased about that either. Arturo said Georgy had his abacus out most of last night and this morning! The sound of the little balls clicking kept poor old Arturo awake all morning!

I've had no such problem! No Boy David or his missus! Bliss! They'd left some scrambled egg and smoked salmon on the sideboard! Must have been in a hurry! Very tasty, I can tell you! Hope they enjoy their tortillas as much as I enjoyed their scrambled egg and salmon.

No need to go hunting tonight! I'll curl up and listen to Radio 4 instead!

Paws for 'pause' @ No 10

So there is to be a 'pause' in going ahead with the NHS reforms! Arturo and I couldn't believe our ears. That silver headed fox, Mr Andrew Lansley, said at the House there would be a 'pause'. But we hadn't understood that, at the start. Let me explain:

Arturo and I were napping, as is our wont in the day when we can find a quiet spot. One of the secretaries had the tele on! It was quite loud - loud enough to wake me. I screwed up one eye and saw the secretary was watching Parliament TV! Boring! I thought, why not CBBC or some cartoon channel? But no, she was glued to the set. I saw this Lansley bloke looking grim faced and mean, as usual. He was speaking about some view he held. Boring!! Then, the secretary gave a little squeak and jumped up! "Yes!" she said.

I sat up and took more notice. What would arouse this usually totally laid-back, rather quiet girl? Then I heard her say "Paws. We're getting a paws! How wonderful!"

I nudged Arturo, "Hey, pal, we're getting another cat here at No 10!"

"What? Another bloody Larry?" Arturo was fully awake. "We don't need no more Larrys."

"No, just another 'paws', that's what she said."

"There won't be enough rats for all of us!" Arturo exclaimed. "Someone'll have to go. And I'm telling you, mate, it ain't going to be me or you."

The secretary meanwhile was telling everyone, "We've got a 'paws'. Isn't it great. Now the PM can appear to look as though he really is trying to be on the side of the people!"

Now, I didn't understand that! How would getting another cat show he was on the side of the people? Most people don't like cats. The fools like the dicky birds in Springtime not preying cats. But still she chauntered on to a small group of girls that was getting larger by the minute.

"Don't you see, if the PM and Nick don't do anything, they'll look bad. So this pause in pushing the NHS reform legislation is just what they needed. Of course, pause doesn't mean they'll change anything but it's great PR! How clever. But then both the PM and his Deputy were experts in PR. We're so lucky to have them!"

The other girls all giggled and nodded agreement, then went back to their computers. I gave a great big sigh of relief. "Did you hear that, Arturo? There's more than one way of spelling 'paws'! This sort of pause is going to cause trouble for lots of others but not for us."

Rehearsals @ No 10

Well - I never thought I'd watch two grown men taking turns at pulling faces at each other and trying to guess which one looked the more sincere. But that's what I spied today. Boy David and the one called Clegg had been deep in conversation for sometime. I couldn't catch all they were saying except for when Boy David said "We have to look as though we really and truly believe what we say."

Clegg gave that well known boyish grin guaranteed to set the ladies' hearts fluttering. "Like this, do you mean?" He looked as though a sweet smelling rose had been held in front of his nose.

Boy David peered closely at him and then nodded very slightly, "Yes - that's quite good, quite effective. How did you get that look?"

"I thought of Lady Gaga!" Clegg laughed - "she has a strange effect on most people, especially men."

"Not on me! It wouldn't work for me!" Boy David was rather peevish about it. "I think I'll just use my normal look."

"What's that, when it's at home?" Clegg was visibly smirking now.

"The look I used when I said that 'It's a huge privilege and an honour and a great responsibility to take on this job.' Everyone thought I was being quite humble."

"No they didn't, they knew all along that you were an old Etonian and humility isn't exactly a noted Eton quality! Unlike a lad like me from Westminster School. No, I suggest you close your eyes for a minute and think of something that really sends you."

I peered closely at Boy David. He did just what he'd been told. He actually closed his eyes. His face changed dramatically, after a few seconds. Clegg grinned.

"You've got it! As they said in 'My Fair Lady', 'By Jove, you've got it! Now what was it? I want some of that!"

Boy David opened his eyes and smiled. "Never you mind, Clegg. You stick to your Lady Gaga fantasy and I'll stick to mine. It'll be hard when we're trying to convince the people we're sincere about the NHS. But ... it might just work. Especially when everyone looks at Lansley's face!"

The two of them laughed! They slapped each other on the back and walked out of the front door.

I was, to put it mildly, rather gobsmacked! But then the PM was PR in his youth and our lad, Clegg, is PR to his bones. I pity the British public : one such politician as PM is bad enough but a second one as Deputy PM. I ask you, what chance does the country stand? More important, what chance does the NHS have?

Fortunately, the local vet is brilliant and he gives his services freely to the Blue Cross. Glad I'm not a human!

Is there disaster @ No 10?

Sunday morning - all quiet - nice morning in bed to read the Sundays! That's what old Larry, the pampered moggy upstairs, told me the Cameron family were expecting!

What with the busy week! What with the kids! What with the 'most annoying person' getting some excellent press! Surely the PM, our Boy David, deserved a bit of peace and quiet. But - the best laid plans etc ...

The first I knew about it was the angry yell from upstairs in the flat! Then, I heard Larry scampering downstairs. An unusual event, you understand, for one so precious. Normally, he is carried everywhere whilst being fed choice bits of chicken. But - not today! The wily old moggy got out of the way and trotted in to find me in the Cabinet Room where I was dozing after a hectic night on the tiles!

"Hey, Butch, want to know why I'm here?" He asked. He was sure I'd want to know so he didn't wait for an answer. He looked real pleased with himself.

"The Boss, (he means Boy David), is up-the-proverbial-pole! He's just read The Independent on Sunday." Larry twitched his whiskers knowingly. "It seems that a man called Lord David Owen wrote an article. The Boss read it out loud, 'It is a tragedy that the NHS is being subjected to this inept, ill-conceived and damaging legislation... the NHS is heading for a train crash and David Cameron, as the train driver, and Nick Clegg, as his guard, will forever be held responsible.' He got angry when he read that, I can tell you. He was hopping mad! You see, I know he thinks he's pretty good at handling people! He's got the charm! Though, that seems in short supply this morning!"

I listened to everything he had to say. It's not often I'm granted the honour of being spoken to by Larry. It's funny really when you think about it. The PM is terrific on PR. He smiles and nods benignly and people think he's wonderful! But really he and that Clegg chap are like Babes in the Wood when it comes to knowing what the world is actually all about. They've been pampered all their lives and wouldn't know hardship if it hit them in the face! Larry is rather like that. He'd been pampered all his life, till he got lost one day in Mayfair and then picked up by the Animal Rescue Squad. Then, as luck would have it, he fell right into it by being picked as the Downing Street rat catcher! So, like I say, they're all birds of a feather - excuse the metaphor - or whatever!!

As for me and old Arturo, next door, we know our place! No bad comments about us!
Just as I was musing, I heard a small girl's voice calling, "Larry! Larry, where are you? I've got a treat for you."

Old Larry was out of here like a shot and heading for the flat! Oh well ...

What to do? @ No 10

Boy David was calmer today. Georgy also not so fraught. Is it the possibility of the weekend? Is it that they know that whatever they do, life goes on.

But this morning, Boy David was muttering 'Moussa Koussa ... Moussa Koussa ...' I thought to myself, 'Hang on! A new cat! Great name for a cat: Moussa Koussa.'

I was wrong - it weren't no cat he was on about. It seems this Moussa Koussa is some sort of politician. More than that, he is THE politician from Libya. It seems he is a man seeking to get away from Libya.

Now, why should all this exercise the grey cells of my Boy David? I heard some flunky from the Home Office arguing with another flunky from the Justice Department about what was to be done with this Moussa Koussa. Fortunately, they didn't notice me, so I had a front row view, so to speak.

'We can't let him into the country, then let him go!'

'Why not? If others see he's treated well, they'll also defect from Libya.'

'Can't do it, old son! It's not on! He's wanted for questioning over Lockerbie and countless atrocities. Can't just let him go!'

This was all too much for Boy David! 'We must say something! What do we say? What do I say?'

The two flunkies looked at each other, flummoxed by the thought.

At last, that familiar expression of knowingness crossed Boy David's face. You'll be familiar with the look, it quite transforms his visage. He appears to have smelled some transfixing perfume.

'I'll just say that we cannot grant him immunity from prosecution. How about that?'

'Brilliant, PM. Quite brilliant! You're not really saying anything, are you?' Flunky One said.

'Totally agree! PM, it is really excellent! You're not saying he will be prosecuted. So - all the others who are teetering on the brink of defection will think everything will be alright for them too!'

Boy David gave a Sphinx-like smile. I'd swear I heard him purr! But then, of course, he was in PR before becoming PM!!