2004-11-22 - 2:33 p.m.

The cats have upped the stakes in our Cold War. For some time now, the feline species have not suffered any delusions about the lack of affection in which I hold them, but as I understood things, we were happy to just dislike each other from afar. I remained unimpressed by everything they ever did ever, and them likewise.

Friday night I was at a house party in deepest Surrey, meeting some friends from university as people do, unless they didn�t go to university, in which case they meet other people. Jesus, It doesn�t make them a bad person! What are you, some kind of academic snob-crotch? Some of my best friends don�t mind people who didn�t go to university, for God�s sake!

Anyway, among the throng (of about six people) was my ex girlfriend (I only have the one) from about five years ago who I still see and am friends with - yes, very mature indeed, thanks for asking. She was showcasing her new bloke, which I would say I am totally fine with if it didn�t imply that I wasn�t totally fine with it, but I am, so I won�t. Anyway, despite being totally fine with it, it would still be nice to meet him without extreme physical disfigurement shadowing the proceedings.

My ex�s cat, which I have always despised, and which is on its last legs, managed to engineer a final, pre-death revenge strike by jumping all over the place, willy-nilly shedding its allergen-saturated hair, some of which found its way into my eye. I haven�t had an eye that painful since my brother squirted correction fluid thinner into it �by accident�, even though I had just beaten him at some kind of ball game. Why did he have the correction fluid thinner in his bag? That�s MY question.

So I�m trying to talk to the new guy, in the way you do to try and persuade the new partner of ex�s that they didn�t break up with you because you�re some twitching, bug-eyed lunatic who still harbours grudges about correction fluid thinner accidents that happened over two decades ago. This is quite a difficult feat when an iris-seeking cat hair dirty bomb has wormed its way under your contact lens and is causing the same amount of irritation that a scorpion with itching powder would if it was waltzing across your eyeball.

I�m trying to avoid that first fatal eye rub whilst looking interested in his detailed description of 1950s hi-fi equipment, but I eventually gave in, and all optical hell broke loose. Redness. Frenzied rubbing. A peak the size of a small baked potato suddenly appearing. Making it impossible to blink. All very impressive.

Two days of near-constant eye-bathing and it�s slightly less inflamed, but heavens to Betsy, if that doesn�t harsh my ocular mellow. It�s small consolation that the moggy will (probably)die before me. I have now declared war on the entire genus. I have correction fluid thinner and, thanks to my brother, I know how to use it.