In the ever-deepening depths of this so-called blog there are some posts that were inspired by "The Birds of Lancashire" by one Clifford Oakes. And those articles were mainly about the incredible amount of bird-shooting that went on back then. A huge proportion of " rarity records" were birds that had been shot ... innocent dicky birds that were just minding their own business often after a long and arduous journey and then got blasted to death for no good reason . 575-whats-hits-history-whats-missed-is-mystery.html 576-mass-shooting-in-lancashire.html 579-the-most-shot-species.html And quite often, good old Clifford would tell us which museum their stuffed remains were on display... or where their skins were filed away in some dusty drawer in the basement. But ... but ... in the current " chucking statues into rivers" upheaval, where all " things that were bad in the past" must be destroyed, including Clifford's book, and those stuffed birds, and all those skins in their little cupboards will all have to be dragged out into the street and burned. And all the dioramas of Jurassic Animals etc will have to go, hey, and The Pyramids, which were built by slaves who no doubt died in large numbers, and those huge skellingtons in The Natural History Museum ... all must GO. Even my own street, which has a potential famous person's name, a person who almost certainly has a dodgy background, might have the plaque taken down, and the name changed, and I'll have to chuck away all my expensive headed notepaper as well as Clifford's magnum opus. Bah! But .. at least my " in-progress" Pyramid of Bird Books" will be slightly shorter. But ..... then they'll come and tear down the house ! Here's a fine and very apt song ... and ironically, they're sitting on a bulldozer .... Tear down the house that I grew up in.
I'll never be the same again. Take everything that I've collected, and throw it in a pile. Bulldoze the woods that I ran through. Carry the pictures of me and you. I have no memory of who I once was, and I don't remember your name. Park the old car that I love the best. Inspection's due and it won't pass the test. It's funny how I have to put it to rest, and how one day I will join it. I remember crying over you, and I don't mean like a couple of tears and I'm blue. I'm talking about collapsing and screaming at the moon, but I'm a better man for having gone through it. Yes, I'm a better man for having gone through. Ever since I learned how to curse. I've been using those sorry old words. But I'm talking to these children and I'm keeping it clean. I don't need those words to say what I mean. No, I don't need those words to say what I mean Tear down the house that I grew up in. I'll never be the same again. Take everything that I used to own, and burn it in a pile Bulldoze the woods that I ran through. Carry the pictures of me and you. I have no memory of who I once was, and I don't remember your name. Hey ...wasn't that lovely ?
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AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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