It’s that time of year again. The nights are getting longer, by a whole fucking hour as of yesterday. How does that work? How come someone can go – ‘Okay, now you have to do that whole hour all over again.’
Wouldn’t matter so much if it was a good hour, but it generally isn’t at midnight on a Saturday in rainy cold October. It certainly wasn’t last night.
If you ask me, it should be the other way round. Give us an extra hour at this time of year when every molly second of potential sunlight accounts for a much needed dose of the old Vit D. Whole thing sucks.
So, it’s off to Wales we go. Don’t ask me why. Heading off down the M4 any minute now for a few days in the mountains.
After a little light persuasion yesterday, Mike and Ken agreed to come too.
This is Mike and Ken, and this was their reaction when I first suggested it.
Not much in the way of enthusiasm:
As you can see, Ken (right) doesn’t get a lot of exercise. One of the reasons I thought a trip to Wales would be a good idea.
Then I mentioned the free seed in Abergavenny, which seemed to stir a little interest in Mike:
“How about it, Ken?”
This finally got a reaction from Ken:
Albeit, “Stick it up your arse.”
This was the point I went into one about the rolling hills and country air. How it’s all about self survival in the wilderness.
Again, not much reaction to be had, truth be told:
Blank expressions all round.
Then, genius, I mentioned the ‘action’ potential. How Welsh pigeons were renowned for getting it on at every given opportunity, with a particular pen-chance for the Urban Grey…
Suddenly, Ken perks up:
“What’s that you say, Bri. Action? Really? No strings?”
Mike seemed a little peeved that the promise of a ride had swung it for Ken, but swung he was. Well and truly. Hardly surprising seeing as the last action Ken got was some pissed up old bird who barely knew her own name.
So, that’s it. Me, Mart, Ken and Mike are off at any moment to go check out the Welsh.
This is genius.
A bird after me own heart.
Click on the pic or this link to watch:
Okay – so what’s the score with the weather.
This was Mart a couple of days ago looking more than a little moist:
Then again, it was fucking hot, and now it’s cold. WTF?
I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Literally. No idea.
One thing I do know though, and that is winter sucks for the pigeon.
It’s the only time of year I wish I’d focused on the racing. Could have had me a tidy pad by now. Instead, it’s back to freezing my arse off on frost ridden ledges…
Moving swiftly on to Andrew Marr who said this week that bloggers are: “…socially inadequate, pimpled, single, slightly seedy, bald, cauliflower-nosed, young men sitting in their mother’s basements and ranting. They are very angry people.”.
Angry? Really? I’d say what you’ve written here might be considered a little angry. No?
As for the ‘socially inadequate, pimpled, single, seedy, bald, cauliflower nosed’ etc.
Seriously mate, people in glass houses:
I tell you what else, with the onslaught of winter, I’d give anything for a nice warm mother’s basement if any of you fancy sharing?
Found this little gem on the internet the other day, not that I want you to think I spend my days searching for pigeon porn.
It was a one off.
Tell you what though, there’s loads out there. Not much of it’s any good. Really poor performances and no fucking plot whatsoever.
That’s why I liked this one. At least we know what their names are, and they look like they’re enjoying it:
They don’t make them like that anymore, I tell you.
Good work, Bob and Margaret.