DO you know why curiosity killed the cat?
No, I don’t either, and when I ‘Googled it’ I was told the saying dated back to a 1598 play first performed by Shakespeare or that it involved an unfortunate kitten and a chimney.
The reason I ask is that my brain has been a bit busy this week - to be fair the rest of my being has been too - but I just wanted to make sure I avoided a feline fate.
I mean who wakes up in the morning wondering why Neanderthals didn’t have beards?
Granted the models in the National History Museum could be wrong... but thinking about it the Flintstones didn’t have face fur either.
Perhaps my points of reference are a bit bizarre, and perhaps Gillette wasn’t just for the modern man.
This is just a glimpse into my mind – terrifying isn’t it?
Other important queries have been as to whether I would prefer to own a sheep or a lawnmower.
But that was answered pretty quickly. My week has echoed this randomness.
It started as it meant to go on with... porridge.
I think there should be a rule that every day until February begins this way. Ideally topped with a banana and a drizzle of maple syrup.
But anyway.. next was a trip to Teapot Island in Kent, which boasts 7,000 beautiful and bonkers brew makers in one place.
It was mad, but in a good way.
Speaking of which I’ve since headed to Petworth House to eat sugar diamonds and hang out with Heston Blumenthal.
Well, if hanging out counts as staring at him for a bit before asking for a photo.
And it is only Thursday – I feel like the cat who got the cream.