Barney’s gone Doolally Dave again - not that he was ever compos mentis in the first place. He discovered that he’d missed St. Patrick’s day - by a month to be precise. Undeterred, he toddled off to Jimmy Bradley’s and got somewhat lubricated on Guinesss. Drunk as a lord, he staggered home and fell into to a hole in Mlynarska, where they are relaying the tramline.
He would have been buried alive if he hadn’t been rescued by a passing, travelling Pork Pie seller from Wigan. Not satisfied with his good fortune, he tried to half inch some of the tram track and sell it down at the Scup. Well it wasn’t long before the Cat Police were on to him.
Now he’s on the run and disguised as George Melly in a ridiculous outfit that only draws attention in my opinion.
Non Wooden Cats have no sense at all unlike us solid Wooden Cats who have woody minds full of wisdom built on years of Oak, Pine and Elder. Some days, I wish I was a tree - a lovely big tree with branches swaying in the wind, leaves shimmering and birds tickling me with their feathers.
It’s obvious to see how Doolally Dave Barney is in comparison.
Name day
Empty crisp packet
Broken biscuits
Clicking your pen in an irritating way
