Shame and Cat Drool

I'm off to London for two nights to see my wife, who works there most of the week, even though she actually lives at home with me. As a result, our two dogs are out at her parents for the next week. As another result of that, our two cats have carte blanche on the house. Which means, as I type, I am wiping chilled-out cat drool from my arm. They get so chilled out, especially when our youngest dog isn't trying to herd them (they're both Border Collies). And so he's perched on my lap and interfering with my arms as I type. But he's a cracker. Indy. Not as obvious as some would think. My wife wanted a ginger tom (which he is) called Jones, after the cat in Alien. Due to the fact I like to sleep, this would not proceed, with me. So we reached a compromise, as I love that old hat wearing archaeologist.

But the shame comes from something else. I still haven't been able to see The Mist. Which kind of pisses on my previous post, especially as I think it'll be gone in a week, which would strengthen my theory that it's being fucked in theatrical distribution in the UK. The other bit of shame is that I've only just bought Songs for the Deaf, by Queens of the Stone Age. Why? How? I've not quite finished listening to it, as I type, but it's a monster and is taking on Ten and Slave to the Grind for me. Whether it overtakes or comes close is another question. It'll likely lose, but I've not heard a better album in a long while.

But another question remains: How the fuck did I miss this?