So do cats really taste like chicken? We'll never know.

Having finally had the chance to read some other peoples’ recent journal entries I find myself more than a tad envious of those of you in Sydney for Mardi Gras season. But in a pathetic attempt to divert my attention from the light reflecting off the sequins and hot pants in Sydney – which can actually be seen from here – I have taken to reading News Limited’s esteemed tabloid, the Adelaide Advertiser.As if to confirm Harley’s recent assertion that a trained monkey can get its face in The Daily Telegraph, I read in the Advertiser last week about Cisco the squirrel monkey having been stolen from Adelaide zoo. While the Advertiser admittedly does not match the lofty standards of journalism set by the Tele (I’m not joking, everything’s relative) this creature’s dominance of the news pages here indicates the high regard that the media really has for monkeys. Exactly how Cisco came to be named after a brand of Ethernet router I’m not sure. Someone suggested something about corporate sponsorship of zoo animals but I don’t want to believe it. Animals continued to be the Advertiser’s hot topic (hot as in 220 degrees, roast for an hour, garnish with coriander) in SA Law Society President David Howard’s column, which began: “Cats and dogs are likely to be off the menu in South Australian homes in future following the passage this week of the Summary Offences (Consumption of Dogs and Cats) Amendment Bill through the Lower House.”Damn, hey. But really that is a shit because later in the same edition are many tempting ads in the classifieds section, such as:“KITTEN 10 weeks female, loving immaculate tabby. $20.”I mean that must work out at less than $5 a kilo which is much cheaper than most of the meat at Coles. My brother was going to ring the seller and ask if that price was for fillets or ‘on the bone’ but we weren’t sure if that would be a bit insensitive.To other matters, I felt highly disorganised at work the other day because I forgot my Post-it notes. I half expected this event to make the front page. Really though, Adelaide is the first place I’ve encountered the situation of the free local paper being less trashy than the most popular daily paper, even if ‘The City Messenger’ does contain gem headlines such as “Nannies Looking After Each Other”. There is also a very helpful letter from F.N. Ebbeck of North Adelaide who gives the following advice:“The indication of 20km/h at the site of the speed humps is a courtesy advising motorists that there is a recommended speed to drive across the humps. Motorists can drive over the humps at 50km/h (the speed limit of the area) if they wish.”Don’t tempt me. What I am yet to find in either publication is a section like the Sydney Morning Herald’s ‘Column 8’ where I can send in some of my analogies. When the sales person at a hi-fi shop (where I was looking at stuff I can’t afford) was trying to explain why the light was dimming on an amplifier when the music was loud I suggested that it was like when you are in the shower enjoying an abundance of warm water and someone turns on another tap and you are left with a mere trickle. This was okay until I pictured said sales person in the shower - yuk.To bring the topic back to animals again I was today comparing the hard drive of my laptop to the backyard of a serial dog owner in that every mongrel of a programme I’ve had on here and later uninstalled has left its abode littered with turds.Speaking of nice images I’ve decided it’s about time I gave my journal pages a sort of ‘Queer Eye’ treatment – you know, some pictures, nice backgrounds and the odd throw rug. I hereby place my reliance on anyone reading this to put up harassing replies if I don’t deliver on this undertaking soon.I’m not sure if flattered is really the word but I was somehow touched that Harley has followed my lead in calling Stonewall ‘Our Second Home’. I remember speculating on my last night there, before coming to Adelaide, as to whether the place will have changed much by the time I get back. Jerry ventured that it would probably just go further downhill in trashiness but then wondered if that was actually conceivable. Here, the Mars Bar continues prove that there are clubs that are trashier than Stonewall. On Friday night I took my gayest shirt and $35 haircut along and met yet another gay boy called Daniel. This brings my ratio of ‘Guys Named Daniel I’ve Got With’ : ‘Total Number of Guys Got With’ to 2:13. Admittedly though, it wasn’t until some time after meeting him that I actually found out his name, as is the way with these things. Upon my departure he voiced his suspicion that perhaps he had led me on a bit. That point while on the Mars Bar’s teflon coated dance floor, when I couldn’t work out if his tongue was as far down my throat as his hand was down my pants, could probably constitute him leading me on. Yet I was somehow pleased that the leading on didn’t actually lead to anything - his display of characteristic Adelaidian forwardness was really on the outer envelope of normal behaviour, even taking the setting into account.