And at the same time, albeit in Berlin in 1939, the State Visit of Prince Paul of Yugoslavia and his wife, Princess Olga was fast approaching and two people were awaiting it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation: Reichsfuhrer-SS Heinrich Himmler was determined that the Visit be smoothly managed and his nemesis Joseph Goebbels not be allowed the credit; and Vlado Chernozemski intended a reprise of his assassination of Prince Paul's cousin, King Alexander, almost five years ago; and in this, he would be aided by the two American Majors, J Alfred Prufrock and Holly Martins, assisted by their network of well-trained and efficient spies and killers, including Hans Steckrübe – the Radio Ham and ersatz uncle of Himmler's current mistress, Elisabeth Mühlau – an enforced Mole within the Headquarters of the Gestapo; now, as it happens, the distraction (a common ruse used by professional assassins) in the 1934 exercise made us of the ailurophobic King's pathological fear of cats, but this was not shared by his cousin, so Vlado was in the process of creating a Stink Bomb in a large, green psykter in the basement of the house he shared with Dr Goebbels occasional mistress, the peroxide-blonde movie actress, Olga Konstantinovna Chekhova who had a remarkable ability to recall word for word anything said by The Weasel, as she referred to Goebbels, and would be delighted if the successful assassination were able to embarrass him: "it'll be Tit for Tat as you English say," she said to Palestrina and Gertie yesterday, as they bathed in the indoor pool, "or maybe Tat for Tit!" and she giggled and splashed the water with her hands.

(by MissTeriWoman)

My worst fears were realised when, not only did the next door’s cat get into the house, through an open window - triggering my ailurophobia - but it then climbed on to the mantelpiece and dislodged my Ancient Greek Psykter pot - which fell onto the hearth and broke into a million pieces - before I managed to embarrass myself totally by running naked into the garden - I had just come out of the shower - and screaming at the Londoners next door “Will you get your tit-for-tat out of my house!” (by Bardly Writ)