Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Saturday, 3 September 2011
Fish and Bird: A Love Story
The shop was cold today. Empty.
As bloody always. Fish thought.
His eyes scanned his tank. Scanned the pebbles. Scanned the castle. Scanned the reflections flickering across the sides. Then the room in which his tank sat, nestled between a tiny empty cage and the counter. His mind wandered about. His thoughts about his constant situation switching from one boring subject matter, to another, and another.
"Shopowner didn’t mop the floor last night. It looks a m-
-maybe I should have a shifty at the castle-
-Cat over there is STARING at me! Cheeky bastard! Well I will stare RIGHT back at-
-around and around and around the tank I go, clockwise……..annnnnnd…….anticlockwise."
The problem with being a Fish in a tank is obvious. It’s boring. But being a fish in a tank, in a shop specifically for "pets" is even more obvious. CONSTANT boredom. Yes maybe a girl, or a boy, or woman, or man, would stop and look. Poke his tank. Make some noise. (Most often when he isn’t ready. Generally the moment before he has buffed up his scales, or just about to give his gravel a quick swish……or after he has just finished having a big poo).
But these events were always a moment. Relatively quick and relatively similar, and relatively painless.
There were the others, Fish supposed. Cat. Fish two (three, four and five). Hamster. Guinea Pig. Mouse one and two. Sometimes Rabbit. And once Dog. Some came and went. Some stayed. Like cat. And himself.
Unwanted.
Cat was terrifying at best. Fish was, well, a very normal fish. The other Fish. Hmmm. Fish did not approve. Flashy and stupid, they could barely hold a conversation.
And so that was Fish. His tank. His life. His world. Full of ever lasting boredom and melancholy monologues. Nothing changed. Nothing happened.
But today was different, even though fish didn’t realise it.
He woke up.
That was his first disappointment of the day. His big glossy eyes flicking up. And down. From one side, to the other. He flexed his tail and swam his two circuits of his tank. And settled in the centre, not too high in the water, not too low. And not too close to either side.
But something was happening. It took Fish a few moments to pull himself out of his stance to understand it. Shopowner was doing something. Ferreting about and generally making a noise.
How annoying.
How disrespectful.
After Fish’s initial anger died down a little, his intrigue took the better of him. Shopowner did things like this every so often. Moving boxes and cages and food and water and mops and things like that. Shopowner was making space for a new pet. That was it.
Great. Another one. Another oddball to pretend didn’t exist. Or another show off. Full of colour and energy and bravado. Something to hate and scorn, especially when it was bought RIGHT in front of him, as he stayed behind. Swishing about and scowling.
Un-wanted and un-loved and ugly.
Fish began to settle down into his thoughts again. Refusing to pander to any of this ritual that would ultimately occur due to social "norms". The others would giggle and gossip, squawk and squeak. They would get-to-know this THING. Laugh and take great delight in one another’s momentary company.
How exciting.
But then Fish heard something. Something so subtle and charming that it shook him.
Shook him out of his angry little thoughts.
It was singing. A voice so pure and innocent, yet bold and passionate. Transfixing him, enveloping him and dazzling him. It was beauty in its truest form.
Fish didn’t understand what was happening. Something was both entering him and coming out of him. Changing him. Something much bigger than he ever thought was happening to him right there. Right then.
Full of this sudden charge, fish became frantic. He simply must know what was making such a noise. Must witness it and understand it and protect it.
Shopowner was moving some books and papers away from the counter next to his bowl. And in place of these things that had always been there, items that were part of the dull background that displayed Fish’s tedious life, shopowner eased something on top.
Shopowner was in the way. He couldn’t see the being that was making such splendour so easily. His nerves were tingling from the tip of his lips to the bottom of the thinnest part of his tail (that was itself wiping from side to side with a huge amount of building ferocity.)
GET. OUT. OF. THE. WAY!!!
And then there it was. Bird. Chirruping away and swaying its head with such elegance it transfixed him even more.
Fish couldn’t think anymore. Fish wasn’t Fish. Fish wasn’t anything or anywhere. No time. No space. All he could do was stare and listen. Bird’s song was in tune with the beating of his heart. And Bird, now he was able to see, matched this noise so perfectly it hit him with another jolt of splendour. Of hunger. Of need. Of fear.
Bird was slender and elegant, but with a strength that exuded power and independence. Every shade of gold flowing through Bird’s feathers hinted to another shade of another colour altogether.
Feathers so light it was as if they had kissed the sky. Some so dark Fish thought it was as if even the shadows themselves were drawn to such magnificence. A beak that curved with such grace. And eyes. Oh my goodness, the eyes. Fish had never seen such intense yet comforting eyes. Deep and boundless.
So full of such conflicts that it was too hard to comprehend. They sat entwined with one another. Loving one another. It was magic.
Fish realised that he was still staring. At some point Shopowner had left. At some point everyone had settled down. At some point the world had moved on.
Bird was still singing. Still lost in it’s own tranquillity. Unaware. Unaware of Fish’s eyes captivated and locked on. Fish’s normal eyes. Everyday eyes. Nothing special eyes. Ugly eyes. HORRID EYES.
A wave of alarm smashed into him. Mortified, he looked down and away so suddenly his mind slipped from under him.
Fish tried to hide, just in case Bird were to glance over. His actions were too fast, too jumpy, so he tried to hide more slowly. He knew he was blushing. Knew that his orange scales were becoming redder and redder. He got to the castle and sighed with such relief he shuddered.
Peeping around the side of this ridiculous plastic mockery of a castle that had become his saviour, he caught another glimpse of Bird. Such beauty. Angelic. So perfect and utterly….there were just no words. Fish was lost. Once so sure of everything, everything in it’s tiresome cyclical way. But now everything had changed. The world had ended and in it’s place was Bird.
The day went on. Moving as it did from another moment to another. Customer’s walked in, poked about, and walked out again. Cat still screeched and Shopowner still bustled about. But Fish’s life was no longer absorbed by this. His rituals were forgotten. His constant internal essays on “Why exactly Hamster was annoying” and “Why Cat is a bloody nutcase”, or “Blah blah blah life is so boring blah blah blah” were a thing of a past that he could no longer remember.
Fish’s day was now much more simple. And yet not simple at all. Simple because ALL he now did was wake, and settle in the centre of his tank. And stare. Not constantly. Not too obviously. But that was his task. He would glimpse and look and peek forever. Look at this angel and listen to it’s song. His heart skipping. His blood rushing.
The way Bird preened. Gently lifting one lustrous wing…..and then the other. The way Bird would tilt its head so coyly to the side in wonderment at it’s surroundings. Calm and peaceful, but with so much intelligence and consideration.
And when the nights crept in, and the blinds were drawn, Fish would really watch. Unstopping, unashamed, unrelenting watching. The day’s coy glances and eavesdropping were a joy, oh yes. But the second Bird’s lids gently slid down, deeper and further until Fish was absolutely SURE Bird had fallen asleep, he would observe in earnest. Fish would watch Bird dream, and at the same time he would dream. Dream of touching those feathers. Placing a fin carefully on the beak, and sliding it slowly across its silken surface. To brush his lips against the curve of Bird’s cheek. And most of all, to imagine embracing such a creature. To hold. To hug. To never let go.
And then the day came.
The most dire and disgusting and soul-tearing and shocking and shattering day.
Bird was bought.
Fish was busy. Neglecting his Bird-watching-duty for just a minute. Just one. An instant.
Fish felt he just HAD to eat. For some unbeknownst reason he decided he must scour the pebbles for flakes. How greedy. How irresponsible. How reckless. It all happened too quickly. One second he was nudging a pebble. The next, an elderly woman was leaving. Leaving with something in her arms. A cage so familiar.
How funny! How strange! That cage looks just like Bird’s cage!
Realisation. Devastation. Even before he turned his head to the counter he knew Bird was gone. Knew he would never hear or see or dream or love again.
His heart was broken. Not just broken, but stamped on. Stamped on and beaten and hit and burnt.
No more watching. No more listening. No more fantasizing or wondering or guessing or wishing.
Fish would wake. Flick his eyes up. And down. From one side….to the other. Flex his tail. A slow swim around the tank. Then settle. In the centre. Not too high. Not too low. Not too close….to either side.
No more monologues. No more feeling. His eyes would look ahead. Dead and dark and seeing but not seeing. The world would scuttle by in a swish of unremarkable colours and sounds.
Fish barely noticed his tank wobble. Barely noticed his water smack from side to side. Barely noticed his being plucked out, put in a bag and taken out of the shop. The light, severe and blistering, was lost on him.
Out of the bag. Into another bowl. He found his centre easily. Another plastic castle. Underneath him lay a hundred pebbles. They were brown. Or black.
He sighed. He was a fish in a bowl.
But a sigh answered his. A sigh full of such feeling and melody he jolted. Up from the depths life came back into Fish and he looked up. Perched on the rim of his new glass bowl it sat. With all it’s beauty and all it’s charm, it’s intelligence and elegance and allure.
There sat Bird.
Without even realising it, Fish was speaking. Speaking words he never thought he would say. Never thought he’d say because he never thought of them before.
“My heart for you. Entirely and forever. My hug for yours, take it, it's all for you. My darling. My friend. My love.”
And in reply, Bird sang a song. And it was dedicated to and only for the ears of one.
Fish.
As bloody always. Fish thought.
His eyes scanned his tank. Scanned the pebbles. Scanned the castle. Scanned the reflections flickering across the sides. Then the room in which his tank sat, nestled between a tiny empty cage and the counter. His mind wandered about. His thoughts about his constant situation switching from one boring subject matter, to another, and another.
"Shopowner didn’t mop the floor last night. It looks a m-
-maybe I should have a shifty at the castle-
-Cat over there is STARING at me! Cheeky bastard! Well I will stare RIGHT back at-
-around and around and around the tank I go, clockwise……..annnnnnd…….anticlockwise."
The problem with being a Fish in a tank is obvious. It’s boring. But being a fish in a tank, in a shop specifically for "pets" is even more obvious. CONSTANT boredom. Yes maybe a girl, or a boy, or woman, or man, would stop and look. Poke his tank. Make some noise. (Most often when he isn’t ready. Generally the moment before he has buffed up his scales, or just about to give his gravel a quick swish……or after he has just finished having a big poo).
But these events were always a moment. Relatively quick and relatively similar, and relatively painless.
There were the others, Fish supposed. Cat. Fish two (three, four and five). Hamster. Guinea Pig. Mouse one and two. Sometimes Rabbit. And once Dog. Some came and went. Some stayed. Like cat. And himself.
Unwanted.
Cat was terrifying at best. Fish was, well, a very normal fish. The other Fish. Hmmm. Fish did not approve. Flashy and stupid, they could barely hold a conversation.
And so that was Fish. His tank. His life. His world. Full of ever lasting boredom and melancholy monologues. Nothing changed. Nothing happened.
But today was different, even though fish didn’t realise it.
He woke up.
That was his first disappointment of the day. His big glossy eyes flicking up. And down. From one side, to the other. He flexed his tail and swam his two circuits of his tank. And settled in the centre, not too high in the water, not too low. And not too close to either side.
But something was happening. It took Fish a few moments to pull himself out of his stance to understand it. Shopowner was doing something. Ferreting about and generally making a noise.
How annoying.
How disrespectful.
After Fish’s initial anger died down a little, his intrigue took the better of him. Shopowner did things like this every so often. Moving boxes and cages and food and water and mops and things like that. Shopowner was making space for a new pet. That was it.
Great. Another one. Another oddball to pretend didn’t exist. Or another show off. Full of colour and energy and bravado. Something to hate and scorn, especially when it was bought RIGHT in front of him, as he stayed behind. Swishing about and scowling.
Un-wanted and un-loved and ugly.
Fish began to settle down into his thoughts again. Refusing to pander to any of this ritual that would ultimately occur due to social "norms". The others would giggle and gossip, squawk and squeak. They would get-to-know this THING. Laugh and take great delight in one another’s momentary company.
How exciting.
But then Fish heard something. Something so subtle and charming that it shook him.
Shook him out of his angry little thoughts.
It was singing. A voice so pure and innocent, yet bold and passionate. Transfixing him, enveloping him and dazzling him. It was beauty in its truest form.
Fish didn’t understand what was happening. Something was both entering him and coming out of him. Changing him. Something much bigger than he ever thought was happening to him right there. Right then.
Full of this sudden charge, fish became frantic. He simply must know what was making such a noise. Must witness it and understand it and protect it.
Shopowner was moving some books and papers away from the counter next to his bowl. And in place of these things that had always been there, items that were part of the dull background that displayed Fish’s tedious life, shopowner eased something on top.
Shopowner was in the way. He couldn’t see the being that was making such splendour so easily. His nerves were tingling from the tip of his lips to the bottom of the thinnest part of his tail (that was itself wiping from side to side with a huge amount of building ferocity.)
GET. OUT. OF. THE. WAY!!!
And then there it was. Bird. Chirruping away and swaying its head with such elegance it transfixed him even more.
Fish couldn’t think anymore. Fish wasn’t Fish. Fish wasn’t anything or anywhere. No time. No space. All he could do was stare and listen. Bird’s song was in tune with the beating of his heart. And Bird, now he was able to see, matched this noise so perfectly it hit him with another jolt of splendour. Of hunger. Of need. Of fear.
Bird was slender and elegant, but with a strength that exuded power and independence. Every shade of gold flowing through Bird’s feathers hinted to another shade of another colour altogether.
Feathers so light it was as if they had kissed the sky. Some so dark Fish thought it was as if even the shadows themselves were drawn to such magnificence. A beak that curved with such grace. And eyes. Oh my goodness, the eyes. Fish had never seen such intense yet comforting eyes. Deep and boundless.
So full of such conflicts that it was too hard to comprehend. They sat entwined with one another. Loving one another. It was magic.
Fish realised that he was still staring. At some point Shopowner had left. At some point everyone had settled down. At some point the world had moved on.
Bird was still singing. Still lost in it’s own tranquillity. Unaware. Unaware of Fish’s eyes captivated and locked on. Fish’s normal eyes. Everyday eyes. Nothing special eyes. Ugly eyes. HORRID EYES.
A wave of alarm smashed into him. Mortified, he looked down and away so suddenly his mind slipped from under him.
Fish tried to hide, just in case Bird were to glance over. His actions were too fast, too jumpy, so he tried to hide more slowly. He knew he was blushing. Knew that his orange scales were becoming redder and redder. He got to the castle and sighed with such relief he shuddered.
Peeping around the side of this ridiculous plastic mockery of a castle that had become his saviour, he caught another glimpse of Bird. Such beauty. Angelic. So perfect and utterly….there were just no words. Fish was lost. Once so sure of everything, everything in it’s tiresome cyclical way. But now everything had changed. The world had ended and in it’s place was Bird.
The day went on. Moving as it did from another moment to another. Customer’s walked in, poked about, and walked out again. Cat still screeched and Shopowner still bustled about. But Fish’s life was no longer absorbed by this. His rituals were forgotten. His constant internal essays on “Why exactly Hamster was annoying” and “Why Cat is a bloody nutcase”, or “Blah blah blah life is so boring blah blah blah” were a thing of a past that he could no longer remember.
Fish’s day was now much more simple. And yet not simple at all. Simple because ALL he now did was wake, and settle in the centre of his tank. And stare. Not constantly. Not too obviously. But that was his task. He would glimpse and look and peek forever. Look at this angel and listen to it’s song. His heart skipping. His blood rushing.
The way Bird preened. Gently lifting one lustrous wing…..and then the other. The way Bird would tilt its head so coyly to the side in wonderment at it’s surroundings. Calm and peaceful, but with so much intelligence and consideration.
And when the nights crept in, and the blinds were drawn, Fish would really watch. Unstopping, unashamed, unrelenting watching. The day’s coy glances and eavesdropping were a joy, oh yes. But the second Bird’s lids gently slid down, deeper and further until Fish was absolutely SURE Bird had fallen asleep, he would observe in earnest. Fish would watch Bird dream, and at the same time he would dream. Dream of touching those feathers. Placing a fin carefully on the beak, and sliding it slowly across its silken surface. To brush his lips against the curve of Bird’s cheek. And most of all, to imagine embracing such a creature. To hold. To hug. To never let go.
And then the day came.
The most dire and disgusting and soul-tearing and shocking and shattering day.
Bird was bought.
Fish was busy. Neglecting his Bird-watching-duty for just a minute. Just one. An instant.
Fish felt he just HAD to eat. For some unbeknownst reason he decided he must scour the pebbles for flakes. How greedy. How irresponsible. How reckless. It all happened too quickly. One second he was nudging a pebble. The next, an elderly woman was leaving. Leaving with something in her arms. A cage so familiar.
How funny! How strange! That cage looks just like Bird’s cage!
Realisation. Devastation. Even before he turned his head to the counter he knew Bird was gone. Knew he would never hear or see or dream or love again.
His heart was broken. Not just broken, but stamped on. Stamped on and beaten and hit and burnt.
No more watching. No more listening. No more fantasizing or wondering or guessing or wishing.
Fish would wake. Flick his eyes up. And down. From one side….to the other. Flex his tail. A slow swim around the tank. Then settle. In the centre. Not too high. Not too low. Not too close….to either side.
No more monologues. No more feeling. His eyes would look ahead. Dead and dark and seeing but not seeing. The world would scuttle by in a swish of unremarkable colours and sounds.
Fish barely noticed his tank wobble. Barely noticed his water smack from side to side. Barely noticed his being plucked out, put in a bag and taken out of the shop. The light, severe and blistering, was lost on him.
Out of the bag. Into another bowl. He found his centre easily. Another plastic castle. Underneath him lay a hundred pebbles. They were brown. Or black.
He sighed. He was a fish in a bowl.
But a sigh answered his. A sigh full of such feeling and melody he jolted. Up from the depths life came back into Fish and he looked up. Perched on the rim of his new glass bowl it sat. With all it’s beauty and all it’s charm, it’s intelligence and elegance and allure.
There sat Bird.
Without even realising it, Fish was speaking. Speaking words he never thought he would say. Never thought he’d say because he never thought of them before.
“My heart for you. Entirely and forever. My hug for yours, take it, it's all for you. My darling. My friend. My love.”
And in reply, Bird sang a song. And it was dedicated to and only for the ears of one.
Fish.
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
SnotCat
SnotCat, like everything, one and being, had a talent.
A talent that not many possessed.
A talent that not many understood.
A talent, in fact, that not many thought was actually a talent.
But it DEFFINATELY is.
SnotCat was a very ordinary cat.
A lovely cat, obviously, as are all cats. But otherwise he was quite ordinary.
He has this long whippy tail.
And these sticky-up ears.
And this fur that is all orange and brown and white and black.
All quite usual.
But on his face, his cheeky little face, is always something that's not always on a cat's face.
It's sometimes green
Or yellow or brown or black.
It's sometimes dribbly
Or sticky or crunchy or hard.
It's snot.
(Which is why SnotCat has such a name by the way).
But the thing with this snot on SnotCat's face is this: it does fantastic things.
Well, SnotCat is always very proud of it anyway.
And if he thinks it does fantastic things, well then, of course it does.
The other day Fox, having a little wander about, bumped into SnotCat in the green behind Tesco.
"Allo SnotCat" says Fox.
At first SnotCat didn't reply because, at that moment, he was very much enjoying dribbling his snot up and down in one big, long, bright green spiral.
Fox hesitated for a second, then nudged SnotCat again.
"Oi"
"Oh i'm so sorry Fox, hiyah how are you today?"
"Why you so fascinated by your snot, SnotCat?"
SnotCat was a little confused by Fox's behaviour. As well as not answering his question, Fox seemed to be staring a bit too hard at his snot spiral. With a look of, was it disgust?
SnotCat, because he has manners, replied to Fox quickly.
"I am fascinated by my snot, Fox, because it is what i do best. And one should always enjoy what one does best."
Fox thought for a moment.
Considering.
Wandering.
And contemplating.
"Yeah, but snot isn't anything special really is it? Everyone gets it from time to time don't they?"
SnotCat didnt have to think for long as, firstly, snot is really one of the most exciting, wonderous and usefull things in the world. Secondly, SnotCat didnt have to think for long because he is very smart (like all cats).
"I am a SnotCat, Fox, and it is fun, but very busy work. Let me tell you my average week."
-On Monday's i have great fun climbing to the top of a lovely big tree and letting my snot dangle as far as it can dangle. Sometimes it nearly brushes the ground (or someone's head), but i snip it straight back up again before it does.
-On Tuesday's, it's always a good idea to remind myself where i've been (i do love to explore). So i shoot out little yellow drops of snot every so often.
-On a Wednesday i blow snot bubbles. One day i will blow a bubble so big that i can fly above the stars.
-Thursday is my combat training day, so i swing from branch to lamp post, from lamp post to bin (and so on) on my extra strong, elastic snot.
-Friday's are good for artistic fullfilment, so i scatter and dip, swirl and nip my snot all over (prefferably) the sofa. One day my work will be in a gallery and it will cross boundaries.
-On a Saturday i like to do the household cleaning. I snot all over the place and the next day, when i get home from one of my nightly escapades, the snot has vanished and all the surfaces and floors and doors and things are all sparkly and clean.
-Sunday's are a lazy day for everybody, obviously. So i generally like stretching back and having the moment to just enjoy being a SnotCat.
Fox was silent for a while.
SnotCat was full of content and calm, gently smiling to himself.
Fox's brow furrowed.
His snout slightly open.
His front paw poised in the air (as if to point something out).
And then Fox admitted,
"...Well SnotCat, i must say...you've got it right dontcha? Gotta do what you do best dontcha?"
"Oh yes Fox. Being a SnotCat is who i am, and that is most deffinately what i do best".
And with that, off popped SnotCat.
A dark yellow dribble of snot hanging from each nostril.
(One was dragging along the ground,
One was stuck to his ear).
And a very big and joyous grin spread across his cheeky little face.
He is SnotCat.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
Tree Climber
He sat and looked.
he drank it in.
watched it shimmer.
It's gold and sparkling, brown and green.
standing very tall and impressive, a show off really, but subtly.
limbs falling and scattering, twisting, reaching and swaying.
tumbling across the sky.
up and down. accross and through itself.
pushing away from him.
toward him as well, which is odd.
He was cross-legged. sat amongst the grass.
a hand gently picking at
the dandelions and sticks and dirt.
(twirling them amogst his fingers and
stopping every so often to tear them in two or three or four).
a glance toward it's trunk.
it's so thick!
it's so rough!
it's so...
eyes wondering across it and up it and then down it again.
concerning and discerning and calculating and diliberating.
He patted the grass goodbye.
And replaced the torn dandelion heads next to their old bodies.
His eyes focused.
Where to start?
A foot, a hand, a finger, and knee.
Slowly and carefully he began to climb.
I'm so high!
I'm so far!
He stopped. And looked.
Everything has changed, everything is different.
What if i fall? What if i break my leg? Or Back? Or face?
Nerves. And fear. Sudden terror and a hint of a question of
what exactly he was thinking of before he started this awful business.
oh my! oh my! oh no! oh my!
Legs quivering. And arms. And head.
(He was a foot from the ground at this point).
A second. A moment.
The wind touched his face.
feathered his lips and smoothed his cheeks.
Virtigo over, he carried on climbing.
Persepective altering.
Brain focused.
Arms and Legs moving on, up and along and sometimes.
A bit down again which was quite annoying.
The trunk gave way to branches.
Clutching and hugging, he side stepped across.
He saw his destination.
It was perfect.
Perfect for sitting (just don't look down quite yet).
Closer and closer, a leg trembled. An arm twitched.
Fingers clasping, then sliding.
Stop.
He sat down again.
But this time it wasn't with the dandelions.
He looked through the branches and the leaves.
His fingers clasped the trunk (just checking it was still there).
The sun warmed his forehead.
His nose, his neck, and a bit of his left shoulder.
The leaves cast patterns and shapes all over the rest of him.
They looked a bit like hands, which is nice.
And then the wind washed his face.
Cooled his body and his mind.
His heart raced when he took it all in.
Everything. All of it.
It really is all much more different, he thought.
When your'e sat up in a tree.
Michelle had a Birthday
I met you when i was understanding.
You met me when you were understanding.
We met eachother, and that was it.
To the friend in my life that can make me laugh without doing anything at all.
Who is many things and words and colours and songs and voices.
Who i love beyond and forever.
You met me when you were understanding.
We met eachother, and that was it.
To the friend in my life that can make me laugh without doing anything at all.
Who is many things and words and colours and songs and voices.
Who i love beyond and forever.
Sunday, 3 April 2011
Mole
Birthday's are really in this year.
Happy Birthday Kate.
Thirty years of being lovely on this world.
Twenty Three years of being a big sister to me.
Four years of being "Naughty Auntie Katie".
Many more years to come of being a MB.
Happy Birthday Kate.
Thirty years of being lovely on this world.
Twenty Three years of being a big sister to me.
Four years of being "Naughty Auntie Katie".
Many more years to come of being a MB.
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