I heard lots of screeching this morning at about 7.30. Looked out and saw a magpie and crow going at it and just assumed they were having a quick shag or a playfight.
Came back at about 10.30 and found feathers all over the place under the tree, further up the garden I could see a pair of wings sticking up out of the grass.
Sadly, the crow was dead, it was obviously a serious fight. By the time I discovered the body, the foxes had been at it and all that remained was the head and wings.
The crow usually hung around quite happily with the gang of magpies, he's been around for ages. They always congregate on the roof of the house next door every night at about 7pm and screech for a few hours. I would love to know what the crow did upset them.
Tuesday, 10 July 2007
Monday, 9 July 2007
Poor old Pig
He got the roster for night duties today for the next 12 months.
Everyone else on his team is down for two night duties, he only has one listed, for January 2008.
When he called up to ask why he's only been allocated one, he was told "it's your age."
LOL!
Everyone else on his team is down for two night duties, he only has one listed, for January 2008.
When he called up to ask why he's only been allocated one, he was told "it's your age."
LOL!
Dawn Of The Living Dead
Great movie, don't you agree?
Every morning we have our own version right here in this house, it's all about trying to get this kid out of bed. It all starts about 6.50 am when Pig (his dad) goes in his room to wake him for stage one.
Stage one is the painful bit- the grunting, moaning and wall-hugging "I wish it was Saturday." same words, every morning.
Stage two is the opening of the curtains. Almost as painful as stage one, this happens at about 7am, we think ten minutes is ample time to go from almost- dead to half-dead. This is also a good time for us to inspect the latest outbreak of zits. Depending on the chocolate consumption the previous evening, the zits can be moderate to puss-filled "please squeeze me" things just waiting to explode.
Ten minutes in the shower is followed by 5 minutes zit-picking. I wouldn't mind but they are usually smeared over the bathroom mirror for all to see.
I wouldn't dare speak to the teenager in the morning. We are alike in many ways and we are not very good at communicating at this time of day. I am ok as long as I have a cup of tea at 6.30 and get to watch BBC Breakfast for a while.
Teenager appears downstairs at 7.25, eats breakfast while watching a wrestling dvd and afterwards goes back up to clean his teeth and resume the spot-picking. It's the same routine every morning.
I do the school run on two mornings and I pick two others up on the way. Sometimes I try to make conversation but there's no point any more, they all sound and look like the Kevin character created by Harry Enfield.
I feel sorry for the teachers. Imagine having to deal with a miserable, hormonal, spotty bunch of oiks every day.
Every morning we have our own version right here in this house, it's all about trying to get this kid out of bed. It all starts about 6.50 am when Pig (his dad) goes in his room to wake him for stage one.
Stage one is the painful bit- the grunting, moaning and wall-hugging "I wish it was Saturday." same words, every morning.
Stage two is the opening of the curtains. Almost as painful as stage one, this happens at about 7am, we think ten minutes is ample time to go from almost- dead to half-dead. This is also a good time for us to inspect the latest outbreak of zits. Depending on the chocolate consumption the previous evening, the zits can be moderate to puss-filled "please squeeze me" things just waiting to explode.
Ten minutes in the shower is followed by 5 minutes zit-picking. I wouldn't mind but they are usually smeared over the bathroom mirror for all to see.
I wouldn't dare speak to the teenager in the morning. We are alike in many ways and we are not very good at communicating at this time of day. I am ok as long as I have a cup of tea at 6.30 and get to watch BBC Breakfast for a while.
Teenager appears downstairs at 7.25, eats breakfast while watching a wrestling dvd and afterwards goes back up to clean his teeth and resume the spot-picking. It's the same routine every morning.
I do the school run on two mornings and I pick two others up on the way. Sometimes I try to make conversation but there's no point any more, they all sound and look like the Kevin character created by Harry Enfield.
I feel sorry for the teachers. Imagine having to deal with a miserable, hormonal, spotty bunch of oiks every day.
Magpies v Cillit Bang
Every Monday morning we put the bin bags outside. As soon as I open the door I can hear them.
Sitting on the roof of the house opposite waiting, screeching and flapping around, awaiting the arrival of the feast.
I can guarantee that even before I have gone back inside the house and closed the door, at least two of the bastards have pounced already, ripping open the bin bags and dragging out the contents.
They are soon joined by the rest of their gangster mates; I have seen as many as 12 magpies before now, bouncing around the rubbish and pulling it to bits. The mess is horrendous. It's hard to imagine that these birds could cause so much mayhem. There are 60 houses in this road and almost all of them are attacked by these pests.
A couple of weeks ago I decided enough was enough, when I came back to find wet, stinking rubbish all over the drive, the worst one yet.
I bought some Cillit Bang oven cleaner and sprayed it all over the bags last week and it seemed to deter them. We still have a few rips in the bags but it seems the smell of the spray was too offputting so they went to attack next door's rubbish instead.
This week, the little horrors have worked out a way around it. They must have seen me spraying the bottom half of the bags, as that's the bit they usually rip open.
I have just looked out and they have changed tactics. Three of them sitting on the top of the bags, avoiding the smell of the oven cleaner.
I never believed it would be possible to hate something as much as I do at this moment. They have pulled almost everything out of that bin bag and are now throwing it around near my car.
Fucking anarchists of the bird world.
Sitting on the roof of the house opposite waiting, screeching and flapping around, awaiting the arrival of the feast.
I can guarantee that even before I have gone back inside the house and closed the door, at least two of the bastards have pounced already, ripping open the bin bags and dragging out the contents.
They are soon joined by the rest of their gangster mates; I have seen as many as 12 magpies before now, bouncing around the rubbish and pulling it to bits. The mess is horrendous. It's hard to imagine that these birds could cause so much mayhem. There are 60 houses in this road and almost all of them are attacked by these pests.
A couple of weeks ago I decided enough was enough, when I came back to find wet, stinking rubbish all over the drive, the worst one yet.
I bought some Cillit Bang oven cleaner and sprayed it all over the bags last week and it seemed to deter them. We still have a few rips in the bags but it seems the smell of the spray was too offputting so they went to attack next door's rubbish instead.
This week, the little horrors have worked out a way around it. They must have seen me spraying the bottom half of the bags, as that's the bit they usually rip open.
I have just looked out and they have changed tactics. Three of them sitting on the top of the bags, avoiding the smell of the oven cleaner.
I never believed it would be possible to hate something as much as I do at this moment. They have pulled almost everything out of that bin bag and are now throwing it around near my car.
Fucking anarchists of the bird world.
Sunday, 8 July 2007
Binge drinkers
When I was doing my gym instructor course, I was amazed at how unhealthy some of the other students were. At least 6 out of the class of 26 were heavy smokers, most of them with the exception of about 4 or 5 would think nothing of getting pissed regularly.
It was quite funny one morning, a Saturday, when about 15 of them had been out for a Friday night bender. They had also been shagging like rabbits, so I heard. Lots of red faces that morning! The Saturday was the last day of the course and the tutors got us to do 3 cardio workouts in one day. I was pissing myself laughing at the hungover ones who were trying to stop themselves from puking after 5 minutes on the treadmills or cross trainers.
A few of the younger ones were thinking of going on to becoming personal trainers. God help us!
Maybe I am just an old whinger, but if I was forking out good money for something like this, I wouldn't want someone teaching me who was smelling of cigarette smoke or who was hungover from the night before.
I can't understand why people drink excessively to the point of making themselves ill.
The old man can quite easily sink 2 bottles of wine in one go, and by that I mean within about 90 minutes. Yes, TWO BOTTLES!
Might not seem much to some people but the damage it's doing to his liver will probably be permanent in about 5 years' time. It's not just him though, some of his CID colleagues drink alot more than he does. They can start at 3pm and go right through to 3am. I have known some he's worked with in the past who force themselves to be sick just to make room for more alcohol.
He hides a bottle in the outside recycle bin until he's finished the first, then hides the second, when he's opened it, down the side of the sofa near the window.
When they collect the recycle bins next week, I might sort out all the empty wine bottles just to see exactly how much he's had in two weeks. Leave them lined up outside the house for the neighbours to see as well.
It was quite funny one morning, a Saturday, when about 15 of them had been out for a Friday night bender. They had also been shagging like rabbits, so I heard. Lots of red faces that morning! The Saturday was the last day of the course and the tutors got us to do 3 cardio workouts in one day. I was pissing myself laughing at the hungover ones who were trying to stop themselves from puking after 5 minutes on the treadmills or cross trainers.
A few of the younger ones were thinking of going on to becoming personal trainers. God help us!
Maybe I am just an old whinger, but if I was forking out good money for something like this, I wouldn't want someone teaching me who was smelling of cigarette smoke or who was hungover from the night before.
I can't understand why people drink excessively to the point of making themselves ill.
The old man can quite easily sink 2 bottles of wine in one go, and by that I mean within about 90 minutes. Yes, TWO BOTTLES!
Might not seem much to some people but the damage it's doing to his liver will probably be permanent in about 5 years' time. It's not just him though, some of his CID colleagues drink alot more than he does. They can start at 3pm and go right through to 3am. I have known some he's worked with in the past who force themselves to be sick just to make room for more alcohol.
He hides a bottle in the outside recycle bin until he's finished the first, then hides the second, when he's opened it, down the side of the sofa near the window.
When they collect the recycle bins next week, I might sort out all the empty wine bottles just to see exactly how much he's had in two weeks. Leave them lined up outside the house for the neighbours to see as well.
Saturday, 7 July 2007
Generation X-Box
The X Box clan is taking over our life!
We bought it at christmas for our son and stupidly agreed he could use it online. He has a headset so he can talk while he's playing the game, Call Of Duty 3. Listening to him this morning, mumbling away to his geeky American gaming friends, I think it was probably the worst decision we have made. Online gaming is a whole new ball game, bringing out the competitive macho thing.
Any attempt by his dad to play is met by stomping and whining "you are not doing it right!" "Use the glitches!" "wrong weapon!"
We bought it at christmas for our son and stupidly agreed he could use it online. He has a headset so he can talk while he's playing the game, Call Of Duty 3. Listening to him this morning, mumbling away to his geeky American gaming friends, I think it was probably the worst decision we have made. Online gaming is a whole new ball game, bringing out the competitive macho thing.
Any attempt by his dad to play is met by stomping and whining "you are not doing it right!" "Use the glitches!" "wrong weapon!"
Friday, 6 July 2007
7/7 second anniversary
Hardly seems like it's been two years since the London terror attacks. I remember that day very clearly.
The day before, I had taken a radio up to our son's school playground at 1pm so that they could hear the result of the Olympic bid.
It was a great feeling, knowing London had beaten the others. I was born here, have always lived here and will die here. I can't imagine living anywhere else. Yes, it's a shithole in some parts, a mad, crazy place at times but I love it.
Our son had gone to a taster day at his new senior school on July 7th. It was a warm, muggy, drizzly morning and he had to be there at 8.30 am so I dropped him there in the car and the old man was off work sick with a bad back so he spent the next hour or so having a bath and moaning about how much pain he was in.
I switched on the Jon Gaunt show on BBC London at 9am. Just a normal day with fat plonker Gaunty bellowing down the airwaves, then the first hint came that all was not well.
The travel report came on at around 9.20 and said there was a problem on the tube network with some sort of power surge.
We knew almost straight away that "it" had happened.
My mind went back to a few weeks before when we sat on the tube and the old fat plod said "They will do it one day, a suicide bomber will blow up a tube train and kill lots of people."
That morning, back in July 2005, we sat there and listened to the updated reports of other "power surges" and we just knew.
As the people started calling in with first hand accounts of people dead, and of seeing some very serious injuries before being led out of those tunnels it was clear to us, and probably to every other emergency worker in the capital that the terrorists had struck.
We live right near an overground section of the tube and there was nothing going past, it was clear that something serious had taken place.
Sky News started reporting a number of explosions at various locations, then the bus bomb report came in.
The rest if the day just went past in a blur of news reports, first hand accounts on the BBC London phone-ins and a realisation that, for many people, life would never be the same again.
I suppose the terrorists really did pick their moment. The day after the high of the Olympic success, the week of the G8 summit when every world leader would be in the UK.
Then, later in the evening, I was browsing the thread on the Urban75 forums when a regular poster called Badger Kitten appeared. She had been in the same carriage as the bomber on the King's Cross train. Her story is all on her blog. (see my link from Rachel From North London)
On that thread, people had been checking that other posters were accounted for, as many of them worked in London, and as it got later we just assumed that everyone was ok. Then Rachel appeared and gave her account of what had happened.
The day before, I had taken a radio up to our son's school playground at 1pm so that they could hear the result of the Olympic bid.
It was a great feeling, knowing London had beaten the others. I was born here, have always lived here and will die here. I can't imagine living anywhere else. Yes, it's a shithole in some parts, a mad, crazy place at times but I love it.
Our son had gone to a taster day at his new senior school on July 7th. It was a warm, muggy, drizzly morning and he had to be there at 8.30 am so I dropped him there in the car and the old man was off work sick with a bad back so he spent the next hour or so having a bath and moaning about how much pain he was in.
I switched on the Jon Gaunt show on BBC London at 9am. Just a normal day with fat plonker Gaunty bellowing down the airwaves, then the first hint came that all was not well.
The travel report came on at around 9.20 and said there was a problem on the tube network with some sort of power surge.
We knew almost straight away that "it" had happened.
My mind went back to a few weeks before when we sat on the tube and the old fat plod said "They will do it one day, a suicide bomber will blow up a tube train and kill lots of people."
That morning, back in July 2005, we sat there and listened to the updated reports of other "power surges" and we just knew.
As the people started calling in with first hand accounts of people dead, and of seeing some very serious injuries before being led out of those tunnels it was clear to us, and probably to every other emergency worker in the capital that the terrorists had struck.
We live right near an overground section of the tube and there was nothing going past, it was clear that something serious had taken place.
Sky News started reporting a number of explosions at various locations, then the bus bomb report came in.
The rest if the day just went past in a blur of news reports, first hand accounts on the BBC London phone-ins and a realisation that, for many people, life would never be the same again.
I suppose the terrorists really did pick their moment. The day after the high of the Olympic success, the week of the G8 summit when every world leader would be in the UK.
Then, later in the evening, I was browsing the thread on the Urban75 forums when a regular poster called Badger Kitten appeared. She had been in the same carriage as the bomber on the King's Cross train. Her story is all on her blog. (see my link from Rachel From North London)
On that thread, people had been checking that other posters were accounted for, as many of them worked in London, and as it got later we just assumed that everyone was ok. Then Rachel appeared and gave her account of what had happened.
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