Friday, 6 May 2016

My Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds


                                                               Fuck off!


  Live in harmony with nature, we're told. Well, frankly, this is hardly a two way thing is it, birds?
  Birds. 
  They may be all lovely in terms of the ecosystem, but they make way too much noise. What is with the little brown one sitting shrieking on a single pitch like a car alarm for minutes on end? Or the wood pigeon with its stuttering cuckoo call? True, the blackbird's song catches the heart. But, really, some of the rest of the little peepers..
  People buy recordings of ambient birdsong. I'd rather buy a recording of ambulance sirens. 
  I'm a city boy that's moved to the country. It was quieter in my bedsit in Camden than it is here in Thorpeness. In Camden the only real noise pollution was the girl in the bedsit next door to mine having Wagnerian multiple orgasms. On her own. It was a relief - ho ho! - when her boyfriend stayed over. Then it was three grunts, him shouting how Dumbledore had trusted him to see this thing through - and her thwarted sighs. 

  The R.S.P.B has sent round information about what to put out on bird tables in the colder months. I've adapted the recipe. One part nuts, one part pumpkin seeds, twenty-five parts crushed temazepam. 
  That should give the tweety fuckers Dawn Chorus.
  

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