This is horrific. Bumped into Murray today who’d just come back from Wimbledon. He’d only gone down to see the Andy Murray match on Centre Court. There he was, minding his own business and getting into the game, when he only gets shot at. Kid you not.
Well shell shocked he was when I saw him:
A massive Murray fan he is too. Even changed his name from Roy in honour of his hero.
“I can’t believe I missed seeing him win. It was only the start of the second set,” said Murray. Thankfully he survived the pot-shot but there were others, apparently, who weren’t so lucky.
So much for the so called ‘gentleman’s game’. Turns out Wimbledon has got so pissed off with our Centre Court dive bombing, it’s hired a marksmen to shoot us down. Unbelievable.
The real shame is the whole dive bombing thing is usually just out-of-towners trying to get on TV. Sadly, they have ruined it for the real tennis fans like Murray. Still, bad behaviour aside, getting the guns out is not on.
In the meantime, Murray has vowed to give Wimbledon the wide berth from now on and is doubly gutted to be missing Andy’s next game on Saturday against Tommy Haas. A game he says “Will be a tough match for Murray.”
I suggested he should go anyway and maybe just watch it on the big screen on the hill? He said he’d rather not go if he couldn’t be on court. Fair enough.
If this is the way things are going, maybe I should get down to inventing some sort of bullet proof vest for pigeons? An armoured jacket perhaps? Food for thought.
All quite exciting today, and finally a good reason to get my arse off my sunshine ledge.
Burlesque Gurtle is in town. Word got out last night she’s doing a brief tour of City Centres in the South East starting with London, where she chose the majestic location of St Paul’s. Next stop is Crawley, apparently. Not sure why.
Anyway, she was as lovely as we expected. I wouldn’t have minded having a pop myself but Mart advised against it suggesting public rejection is never a good thing.
Here she is performing a fine backward open-leg-toe-point. Jesus.
Followed by a sultry look at the crowds of open-beaked pigeons all gagging for it:
Followed by a gorgeous full-frontal toe thrust:
She held this pose for at least ten seconds. Impressive stuff.
It was moist feathers all round, I tell you.
I think I’m in love.
Crawley here I come.
Sorry – bit slack on the posting of this largely due to the fact I’ve been waiting to hear from Greg.
This is Greg:
Greg, as it turns out, is a bit of a lazy fuck. Not surprising really when you check the size of him. We think we’ve got obesity problems over here? Mental.
Last Friday was National Pigeon Day in New York and, seeing as hauling my arse over there was never going to happen, I managed to track down Greg who said he’d pull together a report for me. So he arranges to meet a bunch of mates on the Empire State Building to ‘kick the party off’, sends one of them down to check it out who then comes back saying it’s full of freaks, so they stay put. Useless. Anyway, if you want to read more about it, click on the link.
In the meantime, this is what Greg and pals got up to on National Pigeon Day:
Frankly, not one fuck of a lot. Jesus, those NYC pigeons sure know how to rock the big one. I’ve had better parties in my sleep.
There we were at ‘L’s the other day when we saw a couple of obese dudes, probably from South London, hanging out on the wall outside the kitchen window. Total donnas they were.
Elliot goes: “Watch this”, and fucks off.
A few minutes later, and there’s this voice coming from inside the pipe going:
“Cooeee. Helloooo. Ladies. Can you hear me? Cooooooooooeeeeeeeeeee.”
They get up. Start looking everywhere.
“Coooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Ladies. I’m over here.
Me and Mart are pissing ourselves.
“In here. Helloooooo. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadiieeeeeeees?”
Then they both start looking at the pipe, totally perplexed, with the pipe going:
“Cooooooooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Ladieeeeeeeees. I wonder, can you help me? I appear to be stuck in a pipe.”
Next minute, out comes Elliot totally pissing himself, unlike the Ladies who are not amused in the slightest and fly off in search of some comfort lard.
Not done one of these in ages but figured this total and utter freak deserved a right posting:
It’s called an ‘Oriental Frill’ and comes complete with poncey feathered leg warmers.
Hilariously, not only does it appear to be minus beak, it’s also totally clueless when it comes to existing in the outside world and will carry on walking in whatever direction you point it in till either you tell it to stop, or it hits a wall.
Now if that’s not deserving of a Freeeeeeak of the Weeeeeeeeek award, I don’t know what is.
Russell: “I say, Pretty Lady, won’t you accompany me forthwith to my feathery bedchamber and lie with me a while?”
Pretty Lady: “Not right now, thanks.”
Russell: “But, Pretty Lady, please simply view my extended chest of plenty and imagine what it might feel like to touch it?”
Pretty Lady: “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not…”
Russell: “Pretty Lady, oh how I admire your strength of will in resisting such powerful temptation and, in my heart, I wish there were more like you able to fight their fiery desires…. That’s it, let me chase you…”
Pretty Lady: “Look, let’s get one thing straight – I am not remotely tempted, nor am I even the slightest bit attracted to you. In fact, I’d go as far as to say you repulse me. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”
Russell: “Ok all you lovely ladies out there, here I am, and I’m all yours…