Forget the bombs, there's a whole new measure of death forecast for this week:

1) We're all going to die of heat-ness on Friday if that pinnacle of journalistic credibility, The Star, has anything to do with it. Apparently temperatures are going to nudge 39.6 degrees, although how they can be so specific is beyond me. Maybe they threw darts at the office board.

2) We're all going to die of mouse-related to diseases. Some little rodent bastard is running around the office eating our crisps and lurking in our drawers.

3) We're all going to die of boredom caused by abject poverty. Obvsiouly not that abject, so don't write irate letters at me, rather the fact that all the free fun has been done. For the moment. I think the plan is now to go and 'promenade' at the, er, Proms on Monday and spy on people the Other Cat knows.