Return of the Bag Lady

Once again I shall be an itinerant wanderer, without home or shelter to my name. I'm moving out from what I laughingly call my flat and which everyone else refers to as the shoe storage depot.

Having been recently gazzumped and robbed of the darling little flat that should have been mine I will be hurrumphing back to my parents to asthmatically wheeze away my life surrounded by numerous emotionally needy feline fuzzballs.

Why, when the one thing that distinguishes cats from other annoying little mammals is their elegant aloofness, intelligence and independance, did my mother choose to breed persians? The one breed famous for its need for constant cuddles, pudgy lack of coordination and the same level of intelligence and wanderlust as your average potato.

Ho hum. So anyway, I'm packing up my things and shipping them homewards. The problem is, I've accumulated even more stuff. Since I've moved in a year ago, I've bought a whole new wardrobe, even more books and about 20 new pairs of shoes. On the up side, I've managed to contain the practical items to about the same amount as when I moved in. So that's all right then.