2026 seems to have started a tad late for the chaps - but not through want of trying. They emerge from their hibernation to find things much as they were before, however. Sometimes, even a Prime Ministerial Crisis just seems like another wearisome chore, do it not? In other news, Foxy re-encounters an old flame.

Another belated episode, but what can a boy and his dog do? If nothing else, it should be bring a touch of unexpected excitement to a dreary December Tuesday - not that any day of any week is much to write home about these days. Should this come across as jaded or bitter, please just put it down to the chaps' shock and horror at discovering that neither tabloid media whores nor neo-Nazis can be trusted to behave honourably. As you can imagine, it's been a bit of a blow... 

Having skipped a few weeks, the chaps are back at it with some quasi-plausible excuses for their (doubtless keenly-felt) absence. This week finds them deploring their contemporaries' unsettlingly public willingness to shit all over their offspring.

Pagan pranks and pumpkins abound as the chaps in the Happy Place prepare to chill spines, curdle blood, and carefully space out jump-scares as they give themselves over to the undiluted pleasure of The Holiday Special Episode. 

Huddled together in their somewhat chilly autumnal Happy Place, the chaps - who have never exchanged a cross word or bark - find themselves pondering how cats and kittens who are ostensibly on the same page can be at odds. It's probably for the best - the alternative is being a mindless zombie - but at the same time, it's a bit rough on those who believe in a Universal Consciousness. 

A chill that's sharper and more penetrating than anything Autumn can normally provide permeates the Happy Place this week as the chaps realise (with suitable horror) that they are - to some extent and for a moment only - in agreement with a reviled political figure. It shook them, cats and kittens - so much so that reflecting on the casual idiocy and hypocrisy of Humanity was like drinking from a pure mountain spring...

News of moles and questionable decisions by the CPS have the chaps pondering the murky world of espionage this week: is it wot it used to be? Does it matter? Would a blind folkie and a stone-deaf Lurcher make effective secret agents? These (and other questions) are answered this week - and you don't even have to hold bird-shit smeared paper over a candle to find out what's what. 

Foxy unearths a childhood memory courtesy of a President who appears to have trouble recalling what day it is this week. Consequently, the chaps find themselves considering a much-maligned pachyderm, drawing some questionable comparisons, and realising only now - in this very instant - that they missed a chance to make an Ionescu allusion that would have made them look terribly clever and well-read.

The chaps attempt to retain their much vaunted stiff upper lippery in the face of yet another end of the world that didn't happen - although take some solace in the fact that even the wildest passages in Revelation are by far from being the least believable noises being made this week. Better luck next time, eh, cats and kittens?

Battered, bruised, and with their ears ringing from the triumphant bellowing of a Right Wing emboldened by flag-waving and Donald Trump telling them what they want to hear, the chaps retreat to their Happy Place to take stock. In a moment of brutal clarity, the difficulty of striving for a Better World (and the ease of turning it into a smouldering dung-heap) is revealed to them - but they resolve to carry on regardless and hope you crazy kids feel the same way.