There's been a bit of a thread going on with " fictional birds" .... and especially, those "undefined" birds, where we don't really know for sure what they are. I've already dealt with, but not resolved, the issue of that " black bird" which is used to distract Kanga in "The House at Pooh Corner" , and that undefined "Owl" ,well, a stuffed owl actually, in a Wordsworth poem. I found this one recently, featuring quite heavily in a very famous French novel, "Zazie dans le Métro" . It's a "parrot" named "Laverdure" ..and a very odd one too. He is owned by one " Turandot." All Laverdure ever says ( well, almost) is ... " Tu causes, tu causes, c'est tout ce que tu sais faire." "You chatter, you chatter, it's all that you can do " Throughout the book, from his no doubt incredibly boring cage, that's all he says. In the German version, it's .. " Du quasselst, du quasselst, das ist alles, was du kannst." (Just showing off there a bit.)( The Spanish version ( Zazie en el Metro ) is very expensive ..otherwise I could show you that as well. All donations towards its purchase gratefully accepted. ) But in the penultimate chapter,at the parting of the ways, he says ... hang on, "spoiler alert" ... " Alors au revoir, les gars !" ( " Na denn, auf Wiedersehn, Jungens.") That hardly needs a translation. BUT ... enough of this skirting around the issue ... what blasted sort of "parrot" is he ? That's where the author has let us down badly. That book cover up on the left is no use. It's just been bunged on there by the cover designer ( easy job that) without a moment's thought. It seems to be the bastard offspring of those two parrots up at the top there. Maybe. with an added bowler hat. So what is he ? The author, Raymond Queneau, is long dead, so we can't ask him. Plus, I've been reading a book about Zazie dans le métro which deeply analyses every " petit morceau" of the novel, but signally fails to get to the bottom of this suspiciously deep but also very important mystery. I'd have thought that it should have been uppermost in his to-do list. You'll probably want your own copy ... there it is below . ... if you're going to join the growing band of "Laverdure-istas" who are determined to get to the bottom of all this, find out what species of "parrot" he is and mount a campaign to get parrots out of their cages. There's a tantalising glimpse of what might be the "parrot" in the film of the book ... but you've got to be quick .. it's at 25 seconds ... .. but that surely can't be it . It looks stuffed to me. One obvious and vital question is ... do all parrots have the ability to talk ? The internet says,er, yes, and no, and everything in between. So that's no use. I've even invested in a huge parrot book .... it's the book that's huge by the way ... but it says very little about which ones can, or cannot, talk. Bah. I've even sunk to the depths of consulting wikipedia !! ( Wackypedia) Here's what it has to say about "fictional parrots" ... ...hardly anything really .... Psittaciformes
¡¡¡¡¡ C R I P E S !!!!! Hey ... there's no mention of Laverdure in that tiny list. But that's not all I've found .... there's a whole chapter about Laverdure and Turandot at the far end of this link ... the Laverdure section starts 2/3 of the way down on page 90..... there's bags of other parrots referenced in there as well..... books.google.co.uk/books?id=DeATDAAAQBAJ&pg=PT102&lpg=PT102&dq=Laverdure+and+Turandot&source=bl&ots=HaIWQbXAks&sig=KQKkZq4xQAQVDgYu44hmQDfe4_w&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj9iKj6gbXdAhVoKcAKHStLBHoQ6AEwBnoECAQQAQ#v=onepage&q=Laverdure%20and%20Turandot&f=false I, by the way, am now "Lavedure-ista" #773 But I still haven't a clue what sort of parrot he is. If you have any theories, madcap or not, you could tell me about them... [email protected] Try to keep it down to less than 6000 words if possible. Right .... that's enough tripe and codswollop for one day ,,, let's have some proper music ... very appropriate, this one, for such a windy autumn day as this ... Eva Cassidy ... " Autumn Leaves."
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Yes, I was ridiculously pleased to find 7 wheatears on my morning stroll. Mind you, it was, no doubt about it, the target bird. But why ? Well, they were in the 3K ... my dinky, self-imposed "patch" ,a three kilometre-radius circle centred on my house. I told you all about why I created it ... here .... 16-the-3k.html And the thing is, during the spring passage, I didn't find a single blasted one in the 3K. Bah ! I found lots of others elsewhere. Elsewhere !! What's the use of that ? What indeed. I tried hard enough. Curly got some. No doubt various PIMPS did too .. People In My Patch. But you know how it is ... wrong place, wrong time. ytipidnereS ... The opposite of serendipity. So yes, I was pleased..... and having effectively "two patches" ... the 3K and "everywhere else" .... gives me more things to do, and encourages me to get about a bit more. And it can , as it did today, make an "ordinary" bit of bird-spotting into something a bit special. Plus, it's unique to me ... so I can't be beaten by anyone, it's not a race, it's just, er, me. Which can only be good. I suppose someone could find out where I live, and replicate my 3-kilometre circle .. But that's rather unlikely. And pathetic. Music later ... I have been summoned by The Significant Otter. OK ... that's all sorted ... now the excellent Vetusta Morla ... " Fuego" Trajeron ropas para impresionar ..... Trapos y pieles en forma de abrigo
Pero, ¿quién quiere taparse si aun no conoce el frio?......Dejaron mantas en el vestidor Y los cerrojos para estar tranquilo........Pero, ¿quién quiere guardarse si no existe enemigo? Pero, ¿quién quiere ocultarse de lo desconocido?.........Fuego, siempre alrededor Fuego, alguien olvidó que el fuego........Que el fuego..........Lo guardo yo Cosieron ojos a mi espalda ............Con las señales que llevan al nido Pero, ¿quién quiere encontrarse si aún no se ha perdido?......Pusieron cajas en el mostrador Y las vacunas de un recién nacido......Pero, ¿quién quiere curarse si aún no ha sido herido? Fuego, siempre alrededor........ Fuego, alguien olvidó que el fuego Que el fuego........Lo guardo yo ¿Quién quiere alarmas .......Si aún sigo vivo? Fuego, siempre alrededor.........Fuego, alguien olvidó que el fuego Que el fuego.........Lo guardo yo "Tweet of the day" this morning was about Buzzards. Michael Morpurgo talked about his daily encounters with Buzzards in the Devon countryside. It was OK, as TOTD goes. He said some "interesting" things..... He felt that when a pair of Buzzards were wheeling around high, high in the sky, " too high to be hunting" , they must be doing it for the sheer exhilaration of it.I can't remember the exact wording he used. Enjoyment, pleasure ... that sort of thing. Now that's a big jump that is. Do birds "enjoy" anything ? Can they feel any sort of "exhilaration" or "pleasure". We'd all like to think that they do. But do they? I think most students of bird behaviour (SOBB) would say no. Some might venture a cautious "maybe". Those Buzzards ... your mainstream SOBB would probably say that they were looking for the best area to hunt that day, maybe checking for other neighbouring rival pairs encroaching on their territory, maintaining a highly visible "presence" in their own territory, they could be honing their flying skills, if they were a pair it might be to show each other that they were fit and strong ... showing each other " their thermometers" ..... all sorts of sensible , non-joyous reasons. So, despite those buzzards being "too high for hunting" there's plenty of "non-exhilarating" reasons for all that high-altitude whooshing about. Birds do have a sort of internal "everythings-OK-right--now" sort of internal messaging system going on all the time ..... as do we ... but they, and us, don't know about it on a conscious level. It's a kind of "homeostasis-monitor" if you like ... making sure everything is staying OK. And trying to do something about it if it isn't. But what if we go higher up the evolutionary ladder to mammals ? My cat, for example, "seems" to experience pleasure. Every morning when I arrive downstairs, he jumps onto my lap and turns onto its back so I can stroke its fur. It even has a feedback system called "purring." But I wouldn't like to go as far as to say it is exhibiting pleasure. I reckon that a hard-nosed SOBB would say this was just a sort of "pair-bonding" mutual signalling. Or even a bit of "learned behaviour" that might get him some food ... and sure enough, he gets some food a few minutes later when I go into the kitchen. Or some sort of "allopreening" response. There's all kinds of explanations other than pleasure. Have a look at the sequence at 3m45s on here ... there's a bit of allopreening, plus a commentary .... ..... in which she says that " crows are known to display feelings ... such as happiness, anger and sadness." Interesting ... but she only says they "display" them ... she doesn't go so far as to say they actually "have" those feelings. Personally, I'm "on the fence" about all that. You get a good view from the fence. And you're a bit safer from ground-based predators ! That might be important to you. After all that thinking and feeling, some music ..... very appropriate .... "The Sensual World " .... Kate Bush ... I think I can safely say that this ISN'T by Wavely Newt. He's been very quiet lately. Good lad ! I would imagine that he's found me to be stiff competition. Anyway, this is a truly gripping verse version of a Long-Ago Bit Of Bird-Spotting, or LABOBS to you, or not, as the case may be .... you'll see ..... We went to see a THRUSH It was really rather RARE We had to race and RUSH As we didn't quite know WHERE The stupid thing could BE So I got out the MAP And scanned it DESPERATELY But I was in a FLAP And I hadn't got a CLUE So we stopped and asked a MAN He was a birder TOO And he drew a sort of PLAN On a crappy bit of CARDBOARD With a lump of Gannet POO Then he walked off to STARBOARD Leaving us all thinking, WHO ? Could he possibly BE ? Maybe he's "Ticker" STEW Or Millington, or LEE ! That map just made things WORSE And we drove into a DITCH So we commandeered a HEARSE But we still did not know WHICH Would be the road to PICK As the plan was total CRAP And the suspension made us SICK So we stopped and had a NAP As all of us were KNACKERED Then we continued TERSELY And this time we went BACKWARD As it would only go REVERSLY But that was SERENDIPITOUS Because we found a straggly LINE Of twitchers, all quite CRAPULOUS But of the bird there was no SIGN It buggered off an hour AGO If only we'd not been so LATE We thought we should give it a GO And wait and wait and wait and WAIT It seemed like years as we waited and WAITED In the cold and wet and sludge and SLIME It's true to say our breath was BATED We could have been there till the end of TIME But at last, at last, I saw the BIRD It was miles away, the size of a FLEA Up the line, we spread the WORD And everyone was so happy to SEE Something that vaguely looked like a ZOOTHERA "Vaguely" isn't really a strong enough NAME For the way we'd ID'd it (by trial and ERROR) Any rational person would say it was LAME ..... Of course, it "had" to be the BIGGIE But we "knew" it didn't look the PART It was long, and slim, a bit like TWIGGY But us lot didn't give a FART We were all very quiet on the long drive BACK We stared out of the windows without a WORD That sighting was a load of CACK It was less like a tick, and more like a TURD So, what is the moral of this TALE ? Why is "that sort of thing" so COMMON ? Here's why ...it's the way of the adult MALE To be at the top, not down at the BOTTOM ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ho-ho !! Oh dear ! ¡¡ Oh dear oh dear !! I thought this bit of music would have some sort of relevance ... Neil Young ..." Out on the weekend " 1971 !! Cripes ! Think I'll pack it in and buy a pick-up Take it down to L.A. Find a place to call my own and try to fix up. Start a brand new day. The woman I'm thinking of, she loved me all up But I'm so down today She's so fine, she's in my mind. I hear her callin'. See the lonely boy, out on the weekend Trying to make it pay. Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and Can't begin to say. She got pictures on the wall, they make me look up From her big brass bed. Now I'm running down the road trying to stay up Somewhere in her head. The woman I'm thinking of, she loved me all up But I'm so down today She's so fine she's in my mind. I hear her callin'. See the lonely boy, out on the weekend Trying to make it pay. Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and Can't begin to say. Here's part 1 of a wonderful and rather surreal story of a twitch ,awash with unusual characters and strange events. It tells you all about the eventful preparations, as well as the journey to Owl Springs. I'll tell you where it comes from and who wrote it in the final installment. Here we go .... It was Uncle's birthday, and he had planned a celebration. He told the Old Monkey at breakfast that they were going to Owl Springs.The Old Monkey jumped for joy. If there is any treat that he likes, it is this visit. The springs are not up to much, and it's very hard to get a good look at the owl, but all the same there's something fascinating about the place. People come from all round, especially when there is a rumour that the owl is about, but, as a matter of fact, the only person so far who had really seen the owl was the Old Monkey.One wet Friday night when everyone else had gone away he saw it quite clearly for about five minutes. Most people have not even had a glimpse of it, and those who have are notable characters for the rest of their lives. They telephoned to Cowgill for the traction engine. Although it was Uncle's birthday, he had only received a few presents as yet, a packet of ginger-nuts form the Old Monkey, and some mangoes from Butterskin Mute, while Alonzo S. Whitebeard had simply given him a medal that he had picked up in the street.He gave it to Uncle because he thought it was no good, but he was surprised to discover that it had a very useful quality that nobody had expected. Uncle found this out by accident, while they were waiting for the traction engine. It suddenly turned blue when he stepped on to a little mound of earth , then became silver-coloured again when he stepped off it. He had the curiosity to dig the mound away a little, and found, just under the surface, nine half-crowns wrapped in grease-proof paper. It was evidently a buried-treasure detector. Uncle was delighted, for he had often wanted a thing of this kind, but Whitebeard was very depressed, and wished heartily that he had been generous enough to buy Uncle the half-penny typewriter that he had been looking at for days in Cheapman's window. At last they started, Uncle, the Old Monkey And Alonzo S. Whitebeard, with Cowgill as driver and engineer. The road to Owl Springs goes through a deep valley. Lots of people were also travelling there that day, some on foot, some by car, but most by motor coach. A man called Onion Sam gets up these trips during the May to September season. "Hallo ,Uncle !" said Beaver Hateman. " Going up to see the owl ?" " I hope to do so," replied Uncle calmly. " Well, I don't think you will ; I passed Wizard Blenkinsop on the road, and he assured me that the owl would not be seen after ten this morning. It's now half past nine and we shall be there in ten minutes, while you will get there about eleven! So long, Uncle !" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well readers .... there's your first gripping installment ... and already we've got a tense situation ! Does this fabled "Owl" really exist ? Is the "Old Monkey's" account just the fuddled imaginings of an aging ape ? Will they get there in time ? Is what Beaver Hateman said true ? Bearing in mind that he is Uncle sworn enemy ! Is this Wizard Blenkinsop character reliable ? Surely they should have taken provisions. He'll need more than a few ginger-nuts and mangoes. Where's the One-Armed Badger ? He usually carries them. Music Time .... a fine, spirited, clever song by that Jethro Tull again... " Up to me" ...... Take you to the cinema and leave you in a Wimpy Bar -- you tell me that we've gone to far -- come running up to me. Make the scene at Cousin Jack's -- leave him put the bottles back -- mends his glasses that I cracked -- well that one's up to me. It's up to me Buy a silver cloud to ride -- pack the tennis club inside -- trouser cuffs hung far too wide -- well it was up to me. Tyres down on your bicicle -- your nose feels like an icicle -- the yellow fingered smoky girl is looking up to me. Woah, you know it's up to me yeah Well I'm a common working man with a half of bitter -- bread and jam and if it pleases me I'll put one on you man -- when the copper fades away. Oh, it's up to me Whoa, he said it's up to me yeah The rainy season comes to pass -- the day-glo pirate sinks at last -- and if I laughed a bit to fast. Well it was up to me Take you to the cinema and leave you in a Wimpy Bar -- you tell me that we've gone to far -- come running up to me. Woah, you know it's up to me yeah!
Yesterday I got 2 big Pinkfoot flocks over the house going south... first of the season as far as I know. What an amazing sound they make. Never tire of it! This picture isn't of them ... no batteries in the camera ! Typical . It's from a few years back.... ... and ..... it brought to mind this poem. It's a real poem this one, not one of my silly concoctions. And .... wait for it .... it isn't crap !! As you know, I have a basic rule .... all bird poetry is crap. It's an subset of a bigger rule..... all "nature" poetry is crap. But this one is the exception ...a rare one .... because .... ... it's fine ...... and it's true....... and mysterious...... aha .... I wish I was .... Skeins o Geese by Kathleen Jamie Skeins o geese write a word across the sky. A word struck lik a gong afore I wis born. The sky moves like cattle, lowin. I'm as empty as stane, as fields ploo'd but not sown, naked an blin as a stane. Blin tae the word, blin tae a' soon but geese ca'ing. Wire twists lik archaic script roon a gate. The barbs sign tae the wind as though it was deef. The word whustles ower high for ma senses. Awa. No lik the past which lies strewn aroun. Nor sudden death. No like a lover we'll ken an connect wi forever. The hem of its goin drags across the sky. Whit dae birds write on the dusk? A word niver spoken or read. The skeins turn hame, on the wind's dumb moan, a soun, maybe human, bereft. There's some terrific evocative lines in there ... ... the hem of its goin drags across the sky ... ... whit dae birds write on the dusk ? ... the past which lies strewn aroun.... ... a word struck lik a gong before I wis born ... Yes, at times, I can be a Soppy Old Hector ....... so here's Ian Anderson , the "old" version, doing " Wond'ring Aloud" ... a lovely, and soppy, love song ... If you want to see how he used to be ..... back in the day .... 1976 .... ..and in between those two extremes, various eccentric items of headgear. Anyhow ... here's the sing-along version ... I did warn you about those hats
I think I must have drawn this in some boring meeting somewhere. Actually, that word "boring" is superfluous ... all meetings are boring in my experience. Some of my avid readers have been emailing me ( [email protected]) and asking me ...."what is "proper birding?" Maybe all of them are, I don't know. Anyhow, I have the answer. It's all about that word " proper." Property = what is yours Proper = own, individual,peculiar to you. So ... "proper birding" is whatever sort of birding you do. You. Yourself. Therefore, you shouldn't try to tell other people how to do it. It's a personal thing. Here's some of the "sorts of birding" that various acquaintances of mine do ... you might think them odd, but it's what they like .... and it's perfectly OK with me ... Snodder ..... he bicycles all around his local patch photographing dead birds. Twigsy ......... she only ticks birds with a B in their name. Ibt sbaves bink. Bud .............. he stands outside the town hall and records all the birds he sees. Sal ................she looks out of her bedroom window wistfully counting crows. Barry ............. he's a one-off is Barry. Having spotted a bird, he goes home. Frank............... his birding life is spent with his scope the wrong way round. It's apparently a sort of penance for something he did years ago. Annie ............. she travels to Bangor every day and seawatches. She loves the sea. Gems .............. he "hour-lists" ... and he starts afresh after each hour, 8am - 6pm. Wizzer ............. a sarcastic name ... he practices " slow birding." Stodgy ............ he rubbishes other birders. Well, mainly me. I can take it ! Ha !! Flann ............. he specialises in graveyards ... all over the UK. He's got an ace list. Hez .................. She only likes wrens. She "knows" every wren for miles. Dumps ............. Gulls are his thing. He has his own "ultra-splitting" system. So far he's up to 227 UK gull species.. it's easy to do you know. Mr. G ................ he has huge picture windows and a massive telescope. Flinty ................ so called because he's devoted to birding at Flint Castle. Curly ................ he's a Visitor Experience Manager" at Grumbling Stumps. ITAS .* Amy ..............her "thing" is that she, and we, use her own real name. Odd, but OK. If any of you out there have a "non-standard" but perfectly OK birding regime, why not let me know and I'll bung you on the list. I'm keen to get rid of this"proper birding" notion. There's no such thing. Here's a song for you ... ... yes, it's sad song ...but I'm sure you want to sing along .. it's cathartic ... * ITAS ... it takes all sorts.
Your telescope and your binoculars are so familiar to you , you probably have no idea of their symbolic hinterland ! But .. it's staring you in the face, as the bishop said to the actress ! What is a telescope but a giant, er, penis !! Oh yes. A blatant symbol of masculinity. And what are they all pointing to ... a "bird" .... meaning " an attractive woman." Those twitchers up there ... they're pointing "giant penises" at a "bird". What would the psychologists/sexologists/biologists/behaviourists make of that ? No wonder the only female in that group up there is looking a bit startled. Notice also how they "handle" their telescopes ! Dodgy !! ....and we often forget that telescopes used to be literally "telescopic"... you could "extend" them.... that's a bit Freudian is it not ? He's doing it there . Shocking !! ..and in the light of what I've revealed, this next picture is especially shocking ... perhaps my more sensitive readers should look away for a moment .. I think that should convince any doubters as to the true symbolism of the scope .... oh yes ! You'll never look at, or through, your scope again without that passing thought ! And what is the "scope cover" but a giant willy-warmer !!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Pause for reflection. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ But ..... but ... what about your binoculars ... oh dear oh dear. In French they are called "jumelles" = twins. Aha ! Obviously, binoculars were originally designed for ogling women's breasts. Are any of you males out there going to deny that you've never used yours for that very purpose .... even if only " by accident " ho ho. Just sweeping around !? They even resemble a pair ( jumelles) of breasts ..... but back to front. Plus .. aren't we always told to keep them at " breast height" ?? And why ... for " speedy access." It all adds up ! Look ... here's someone obviously at it .... ..here's another one ... and here's an almost successful one .... You might not have been convinced at first, but now .... you can't deny it. And my music for today, in complete contrast, is not symbolic at all ... no hidden meanings, or anything of that sort ... Annie aime les sucettes
Les sucettes à l'anis Les sucettes à l'anis d'Annie Donnent à ses baisers Un goût anisé Lorsque le sucre d'orge Parfumé à l'anis Coule dans la gorge d'Annie Elle est au paradis Pour quelques penny, Annie A ses sucettes à l'anis Elles ont la couleur de ses grands yeux La couleur des jours heureux Annie aime les sucettes Les sucettes à l'anis Les sucettes à l'anis d'Annie Donnent à ses baisers Un goût anisé Lorsqu'elle n'a sur sa langue Que le petit bâton Elle prend ses jambes à son corps Et retourne au drugstore Pour quelques penny, Annie A ses sucettes à l'anis Elles ont la couleur de ses grands yeux La couleur des jours heureux Lorsque le sucre d'orge Parfumé à l'anis Coule dans la gorge d'Annie Elle est au paradis Mike Glovely is, amazingly, unbelievably the Secret-Airy Offsted for Enviryment, Flode and Angrycultshare, or something like that. Anyhow, here's what I think his advice for us birders/birdwatchers/nature lovers,naturalists/loversofthecountryside and everything else might be. In effect, we are the B/BW/NL/N/LOTC community. Glovely's Laws of the Custardicide/Enviryment ... maybe ..I think something might have gone progessivly wrong with the spel-cheker during the writing of this duckument ... but I'm shor yo'll orl struggel alog butterffly .... [1] Don't tread on the countryside, or the environment. There are little worms and, er, things that might get squashed, and then they might look like me, and that's not a good idea. [2] If you are travelling to the environment by car, turn round right now and go back. You must go there on foot ...see previous rool before doing so , however. [3] If you go by bike, you might get a flat tyre, in which case you should wark it back home. If you pump the tyre up in the environment, you will be taking important oxyjen out of the eke-o'system and then little Wrenns will become dizzy and fall over. And, er, Herrons and things. [4] When in the enviro-ment, and/or the countricyde you should do something youthful. There's to be no wondring around you-slushly .... things like bird scurveys, er, busterfry cownts, reskewing wurrums off the roads, piking up milly-pedes and putting them sumware sayf and the like. All scurvey results, gud deeds etc must be ritten up to be handed in to the Visybull Expieryense Manger when you leave the countrycide, prefrabbly assoonas you have finshed. [5] If you doonut have heavy-dense of doing some youthful thigs, the VEM will isshoo you with a feerss nowtiss and you can eckspekt to bee in cortt withing 5 wookin dais. This all-so apples if the youthfulful things have not been dun propply and/or wreak-ordered cawrekkly. [6] In the cootreecide you will have to ware a twid jakkit, tweed trossers , a tweeeed shurt, tweeeeed hatt and tweeeeeed hoovercoot and hooj wellligtogs. Fay-lure to be propli drest will be severally punnisht. If you ware glassiss, you must ware sed glassiss in cays of triping upp or nokkin thigs owvuh. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I wouldn't be at all surprised if he did come up with some thing like that ... without all the slight spelling errors. He sent the teaching and exam system back into Victorian times, so why not make visiting the countryside into a punitive and over-worthy experience too ? Why not indeed. But now, a dinky song .... La Habitatión Roja ... " Ayer" Here's the "answer" to a question I'm going to put in a post in the faraway future .... The radius of that solar halo should be approx 22½ ° ... this twerp has made a mess of it ! Mind you, to be fair, chwarae teg, that was back in 1976, when the " Great Protractor Shortage" was rife throughout Cumbria, creating havoc across the North-West, and later spreading up the M6 towards Glasgow and then branching off to all points East. Luckily it never went south, the land of learning, intelligent life, muesli and sofa-beds. Bloody typical. Yesterday I heard a mysterious sound ! I was walking along a twisty tree-lined path, so I couldn't see very far Well, I knew what it was .. it was the call of the male cuckoo. Not, of course, to be confused with the call of the female cuckoo. But it wasn't quite right. In several ways. Wrong time of year. The "tone" of it wasn't bang on. The timing of the two notes was a bit off. It lacked that "echo-y" quality. Well readers, turns out it was a bloke with some sort of whistle-contraption. He was blowing into this ocarina-esque device ... but sheepishly stopped when I hove into view. He slipped the contraption into a pocket sharpish. That sheepish and sharpish..... a bit dodgy if you ask me. Shifty. Shushpishshous. Wisely, I think, I said nothing, and walked on. I'm a diplomatic old Hector. So ... what the hell was he doing ? For a start, there weren't going to be any cuckoos to attract, if that was his game. With men, they're usually doing something "because they can". It's a subset of a general rule about men .. " In general, men will do whatever they think they can get away with." It explains about 93% of male behaviour, according to the latest studies. So it was probably that. Perhaps. Maybe he'd found it , picked it up, and just couldn't resist having a go. Lots of times. (?) But you don't do that. What with Novichok and the Galloping Shits and even better, that " Whistle and I'll come to you" story which scares the pants out of anyone who reads it and/or has seen the film ... you don't pick up whistles and blow into them. Oh no . Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo !!! If you haven't the time to watch all of it ... He finds the whistle at 16m 20s He reads the inscription at 18m 19s He blows the whistle ( big mistake) at 19m 30s Things start to go badly wrong at 28m 50s..... You might as well watch the rest from there .... it's not good !! Oh dear !! Oh dear oh dear !!!!!!! So there we have it. But to be more serious for a minute, those "bird-call" devices that hunters use, especially in the US, can be dangerous. Mr. G ( remember him?) brought one of those "squeaker" contraptions back from America and the very first time he tried it, he got attacked by a Tawny Owl. True. I don't think he's used it since. They can have your eye out, you know. Right ... you've been warned. No whistling, hooting, cooing, cuckooing, trilling, squeaking, quacking ... nowt ! You're going to need a really lovely bit of music to get over that film ... we've had this before, but everybody should see this every so often ..... Naturally, you'll want to sing along .... Just one more tiny warning .... In case you're worried, The Great Protractor Shortage only lasted 7 years .... but for a while, it rocked the whole of the North, but nobody knows how much, because there was a bit of a shortage of protractors at the time.
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AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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