Summary
WHENEVER I'm in Covent Garden I like to drop in on my pal who impersonates a cat. Compared with those saddos who dress up as statues and stand stock-still on boxes waiting for the punters, my feline friend's shtick is positively Shakespearean. His body concealed beneath a little table, his head heavily made up and crammed into a one of those cages used to take Tiddles to the vet, he entertains the crowd with a steady stream of catty witticisms.
On Sunday we were chatting about where we both lived, when Felix let fall that he stopped in Hampstead. "Hampstead!" I expostulated. "Well," he moved quickly to mollify me, "I have a very nice council flat." But I wasn't to be soothed by these strokes.See the full content of this document
Extract
Tiddles Scores a Gaff in Nw3
I mean ...
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