Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine…

Not just a feature of the worst Beatles song ever (the White Album? Come on Paul, Ringo George and John, you could have done better than that. After all, you wrote Love Me Do) but now the number of my newest follower. Welcome Cathy!

'Booze, shoes and tattoos' sounds like the blog of a hell’s angel with a foot fetish. But it isn’t, readers, it’s the blog of ‘Cathy’ my latest follower. Six foot three and 16 stone, bald, with bushy whiskers and a huge beer belly, that’s what your average Hell’s Angel looks like. Cathy, on the other hand, well it’s difficult to tell exactly what she looks like. But she’s flicking the V at the camera in her profile picture so we can assume that she’s a bit feisty.

We can also assume that she has tattoos and shoes and that she likes booze. The final assumption is more than borne out by her blog. She appears to drink a lot. Stella, in particular. Now you know me, readers, I’m pretty up to the minute with my views about things like womens’ lib. Like on the tube, I never give up my seat to a woman, because it’s condescending. If they ask, then that’s fine. They can have it. Especially if they’re pregnant, for example. Or crying.

Speaking of which, the other day I saw an advert on the tube for something called a Mooncup. This, it turns out, is an alternative to tampons or sanitary towels. At school these were called ‘mice’ and ‘crash-mats’ by the girls. Anyway, the mooncup is a flexible rubber cone that the woman pops up her unmentionable when she’s a maiden of the moon. It works on the same principle as when you have a leak in the roof and you put a bucket underneath it.

Anyway apparently it’s more ecological than the alternatives because it’s re-usable and I understand that it’s more comfortable too. As with the bucket, though, you just have to remember to empty it.

Sticking on the tube for a minute, I saw a woman with a badge on the tube the other day. The badge said “I’m pregnant, not fat”. I don’t know about you, readers, but I thought this woman was being harsh to people who are overweight. That’s prejudice all on its own. Who does she think she is? Some fat people might need a seat. It might be their glands, for example. Like my cat, Matthew. So I didn’t give her my seat. She could have dropped her kid right in front of me for all I cared, and I wouldn’t have moved. You SHOULDN’T be fat-ist. I felt like saying to her: “You’re ugly, too.” She had a hell of a hooter on her, I’ll tell you that much.

Anyway, like I was saying, I’m right up there with womens’ lib but I do believe in traditional things here and there. Like girls drinking pints of Stella? Do you have to? Couldn’t you just have a bottle, or a half? Or a glass of medium white wine? It’s just more ladylike, that’s all. I’m not saying you can’t play football, or be one of the police that’s allowed to carry a gun, or even be prime minister if you really want to. But do you really have to drink pints?

Anyway, I was supposed to be welcoming Cathy, who works in PR. That’s Press Relations. I have my first professional press relations lady following my citizen journalism blog. Tiny steps, readers, tiny steps.