Right.

Our Thespian had asked to see my new haircut.

I had to have my pic taken for work this week (I am shamefully useless with a camera) so I have one now.

New happy shorn sheep haircut. My hairdresser is great, though if she takes off any more I will have to start wearing pink.

We don't know which one of them it is, but I have my suspicions.

It could be the big, beefy white one and then there's the two black ones. They're brother and sister and live up the top of the row. But I reckon they're all in a gang, together.

The little devils have been at it since we moved in two and half years ago, but this time they have gone too far.

Who? The neighbourhood cat burglars, that's who! I don't know what we've got they want but they won't give it up.

We've got a cat flap in our back door, which we gaffer-taped up because it was drafty round the ankles otherwise in the utility room/space the size of a broom cupboard barely wide enough to swing a hamster, never mind a cat.

And every week they've had it off again. They can't get in, the flappy bit's locked. But they just love to rip off the gaffer tape and let in the draft.

This morning I noticed they'd dragged off the tape on the inside as well. How the hell are they doing this?

Of course I could nail it up but I have ambitions of getting my own cat one day, for whom the cat flap will be ideal. In the meantime I'm getting gate crashers.

I've never caught them at it but I imagine them out there in the dead of night, balaclavas on with little holes for their ears, little stripy jerseys and bags with 'swag' written on them. They've got their penknives out, clutched in their front paws and they're pulling away at it. Nextdoor's security light suddenly comes on and they all freeze and back up against the wall. One says 'Give it here, I'm using my claws' and the kitty frenzy begins.

Because there's always a mess of ripped up gaffer tape on the step.

Unless, of course, they're sniffing the glue off it, or smoking it... You know sometimes I think I have too much imagination.

... off for a run, I can see where I'm going at last.

Then I've a day in Manchester Uni library swotting.

God, if my life were any more exciting... I don't know how I stand up to the constant thrill of it all.

*Focuses on day after dissertation hand-in date - April 24 - and visualises wild celebratory events too incriminating to be mentioned in public*

I was hoping I'd catch Uskie's picture poser this morning. Seems the early bird doesn't always get all the fun... see you later x

Oh dear. I've discovered a new vice.

Horse racing.

I know, I know, slippery slope... end in tears... this way lies dragons, rocks, penuary, looming disaster... blah, blah, blah.

But I had a brill time this week during the Cheltenham racing days. I only had one win (and some seconds) but my fiver seemed to last all week due to some byzantine betting concoction called a lucky 15 (I think).

And I've discovered a racing chum at work and she knows lots, so once this dissertation is in (due date: April 23 - argh, that seems scarily soon now) I reckon it's time to start studying form.

See, I learned some of the lingo already... and she's off!

I haven't twittered on about my inability to sleep/stay asleep for a while.

Sadly it hasn't magically gone away, I've just got bored of talking about it.

I can now get off to sleep, but I wake up at 3.30ish. But it's better than nothing so I'm really not complaining. Actually, it's probably pretty useless because that happens every third night - nights one and two are largely sleepless. I get one night's sleep every three nights. That's rubbish, isn't it?

Learning how to function with next to no sleep takes a while. I look like a grumpy panda most of the time, but it's doable. But dear God, it's so boring - what is there to do at 5am? Well, 5.42am.

It's still dark. I can't go running till I can see the difference between river and not-river on the trail. I don't want to read.

Oh, thank god for blogging... and cups of tea.