Wednesday, June 28, 2006

My mate Sean...

has insisted I buy goldfish for my little pond. Under other circumstances I would have posted a photo of said pond but being sans posh camera that's no longer an option.

In the local pet shop I was told that herons sometimes eat pond fish. Now that did impress me, not that herons eat fish but that anything as gracious as a heron should knock around these parts. I've never seen one in the neighbourhood but Big Trev the halitotic alley cat who lives out back has. Last week whilst changing the battery of my super duper electronic cat scarer/stabber/boiler of feline eyer I noticed Trev lurking.

Trev, "Was admiring your fish the other day when I saw an eagle."
"An eagle?" I said.
"An eagle." He said.
"What did it look like?" I said.
"An eagle," He said.
"Are you sure?" I said.
So he said, "Yes."
I said, "Have you ever seen an eagle before?"
He said, "No."
"Then how did you know it was an eagle?" I said.
"I just assumed." He said.
Give me some details." I said.
So he said, "It was tall with beady eyes and thin legs and a long beak. Oh yeah, and beady eyes."
"I think that was a heron." I said.
"A heron?" He said.
So I said "Yes."
"Have you ever seen a heron before?" He said.
"No." I said.
"Then how did you know it was a heron, you weren't even there."
"The pet shop man said there were herons about,"
Shading his eyes with a paw Big Trev looked skywards.
"He didn't mention eagles then?"
"No," I said.
"Thank fuck for that." He said.
"Why?"I said.
"I saw on the telly that eagles can carry off a whole sheep in one swoop. Was worried."
"About sheep?" I said.
"No, about swooping and things being carried off." He said.
I said, "Apparently herons don't swoop, they stab."
"Stab?" He said.
"Stab." I said.
"It had very beady eyes." He said.
"All the better to see you with." I said.
"And a very beaky beak." He said.
"All the better to stab you with." I said.
"Bloody hell." He said and proceeded to slink away then he hesitated and said, "I read somewhere that herons only eat fish."
"You're thinking of catholics." I said.
"Bugger," He said and continued the slink, ducking and weaving down the alley, dodging imaginary herons.
"Look out!" I shouted and with a screeching miaooowwwwww he skittered through the bins and disappeared.

Ah were reet cheered up.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

In the press...

this week I was reminded of that great joke about a horse on entering a bar being asked by the steward 'Why the long face?'

Watching one of the many re-runs of Jurassic Park on the telly last night there was the bit where a corrupt employee is killed by these small spitting dinosaurs that also have this expanding neck flange arrangement. I was really impressed with them. You can keep your T-Rex and your velociraptors they've always seemed a bit too one trick for my liking. Even if important body parts can be severed with one snap of their mighty jaws, so what. Your gobbing dinosaur, now that's an entirely different kettle of history.

Imagine how cool it would be to have one of them as a constant companion. How useful in a bar, say when someone is being boorish or too loud. With a spitting reptile on the next seat, maybe nursing a Jim Beam and eyeing up the custom it wouldn't take much for it to hock a post Cambrian loogie of astonishing proportions across the bar and knock that fucker right off his stool. And, should some student then decide to barf their liquid lunch in your direction would that umbrellic throat feature not provide the perfect splash guard? Finally, strolling alongside such a buddy what encountered horse could escape the observation, "Long face? You should get a load of his neck."

It's a shit that Evolution has denied us those pleasures.

Monday, June 12, 2006

I mentioned...

to a few blog friends that only my early death would prevent tonight's publication of Pt II. I never thought for a moment my server software would stop working. Maybe it was the burden of anticipation. Trouble is I'm too busy tomorrow night to blog so Wednesday is the next chance I get.

Until Wednesday then.


Sunday, June 11, 2006


Pt II of my little tale will not be ready until tomorrow. Today I pointed the bricks that make up half the floor area of my yard. It took twice as long as I'd planned, six hours instead of three. It was so hot even the alley cats were catching rays, lounging atop various walls and when they could summon the energy shouting advice on sand cement ratios. Of course they know nothing about cement, four sand to one cement, pssht. The local tiny tots were shouting eight sand to half cement but given they're all convinced nothing comes after the number two I wasn't taking any notice of them. A green budgerigar flew by breathlessly declaring his name to be Billy, he also declared his heart to be so full of love it was his intention to shake everyone's hand as a means of proving it. Even the smallest of tots couldn't resist watching this. So we waited and watched, some sat and some stood and some were even a little awed as Billy landed neatly beside Big Trev a fat alley cat with halitosis. Billy proffered a wing but big Trev wanted a breast and a leg, in fact both legs plus the head. One of the tots spelled out in the bluntest of fashion what we all were thinking. "Fucking idiot." She said. And everyone nodded in agreement except Big Trev who just burped.

Friday, June 09, 2006

Right then...

I am over the theft of my camera. Been thinking of blogs. So, from tomorrow a Frankenstein tale in three parts. It will have monsters (maybe more than one), supermarkets (only one), bottle and paper banks (one of each), little children (of course), redemption for the righteous and ridicule for the er, unrighteous.

Until tomorrow then. Hi ho Silver and awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Boo hoo...

my beautiful camera that I loved more than life itself has been stolen. On Friday my car was broken into and the camera taken from the boot. Je suis desole.

It was a hot day, the merciless sun beat down on dry earth, flitting flies licked salt from parched skin. My heart tripped to the beat of Friday's song, a freedom song, an anticipatory song, a weekend song. Music by Sergio Leone infused the shimmering landscape and at every corner sat unshaven men on dusty burros furtively watching from beneath wide brimmed hats. Streams of brown gob streaked the pavement and frightened children hid in their mother's skirts. It was going to be a top weekend, I could tell. Then tragedy struck.

Whilst visiting a house someone broke into my car and rifled the boot; camera gone, mobile phone gone. The weekend suddenly cloudy.

Je suis tres desole.

In consolation my friend Karen fed me gin and tonic with ice and lemon. It helped.