Friday, 16 March 2012

sharpened swans and sleeplesness.

It is now 4.42 A.M. I have had a bout ten hours sleep since Monday, and am getting a bit odd. I was just laying in bed, listening to the wind outside, and Mim making wind at the foot of the bed, whilst Ruth muttered sleep nonsense, trying to switch my mind of and sleep, when a dainty thump heralded the arrival of the Apricot horror, in the snoozy domain. Pie hurtled up the bed, and vigorously greeted me by repeatedly head butting me as hard as he could, then trying to fit his head in my mouth. I lay there trying not to A. open my mouth, and B. giggle. Eventually all I could do was get up, looking disheveled and smelling of cat drool.
I am a charming sight now, in monocle, camoflaged cap, baggy wooly jumper, workmans boots, and no trousers.
To polish matters off, Mr Pie has just  used his litter tray, leaving a smell that I could bottle and sell to middle eastern despots, to torture their subjects with. That cats backside breaches the Geneva convention.

I shall hang this from his tail.

In my last missive I promised the joys of sharpened swans.
This came about as follows: Last weekend, Ruth and I were kindly invited to go to a FANTASTIC local restaurant in Beaumaris, for an old friends 40th birthday. The food was awesome, delicious and beautifully presented <not a chip -or French fry, to my American readers- in sight > and the wine and conversation flowed well, especially when we got a complimentary bottle, after poor Ruth took a tumble on the wonky floor. Then my mind took a turn for the odd, when one friend mentioned something to do with food. My mind cross linked the food with combat, for some reason, and my mouth said "wouldn't raw chickens make good boxing gloves?" to no one in particular. There were raised eyebrows, but my friends are used to me going off on a tangent. The topic of conversation briefly turned to what animals would make the best hand held fighting implements. A live swan was generally agreed to be good, on account of superior reach to a goose, and more aggression than a duck < especially as you would have your hand up its derrière, which would upset most creatures> . I then said "Especially if you sharpened it". The reply came back "You means its beak?" After a moments thought I replied "No, its entire head"
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a wonder of modern science : The mark one combat swan <Black edition>

Swifter than a murder duck, stealthier than agony coot.

1 comment:

  1. :) I have a beautiful painting of an owl done by yourself :)


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