kato age two

My holidays – by Kato the Radioactive Mentalist age 3 and a bit

Martello Tower – was well smart. Took me and Java a day to work out it was all classified as indoors and crossy legs protocols were to be instituted at all times. Even up top on the roof. It was built in 18 hundred and lally lar ahem… to keep out the French and Small Yappy Type Dogs, never saw active service, left to go to rack and ruin, bought by Landmark Trust and done up to be a damp, difficult to access, few metres from the sea, holiday home – marked with a large H in the brochure as being suitable for the Hardier Holiday Maker. Much bigger than any of our inside photos can demonstrate. It’s a clove leaf shape, with two bedrooms, a lounge, shower room, tiny kitchen and a huge central space for enormous dining table and boxes that contained hammocks.

Boglin had adapted a pirate flag to show our allegiance to Bonios and all who munch on them. Striking fear into those landlubbing dogs who can only handle small bite mixer and mini-chop biscuits. And the salty dog smugglers Tesco On-Line had valiantly smuggled us our booty of Bonios, Butchers Tripe and Ale. Yarr me heartys and all that.

Trotting over the drawbridge had our humans almost forgetting their own housetraining – especially at night. As a jolly jape – Java insisted on snooting over the edge with every dainty step of her paws. Human had JaJa on the shortest lead short of carrying her,you should have seen humans face. “Watch this Krappo” Java would snicker and lunge towards the edge of the drawbridge.

The Martello Tower also attracts curious passer-by tourists – our only criticism of the place is that perhaps a more strongly worded sign is needed as we answered the door several times to inquisitive peeps. Our humans would muse over their quaffing what sign should be devised to deter such intrusions – “Lepers Holiday Retreat” “Please knock for your up to date copy of the Watchtower”
Our lazy ass humans let lupercal do all the cooking, and sat down to delicious banquets everynight, quaffing and imbibing.. Humans also spent a lot of time up top, shouting your father was a hamster and your mother she smells of elderberries. In really awful French Poodle accents – odd.