.

Tea. Sleeping Kittens. The Smell of Old Books. Expensive Cheese. Painted Toenails. Lounging Around. Coffee Beans. Weddings. Poached Eggs. Napping. Candles. Secrets. Photographs. Harry Potter. Sex. Hand Holding. Fabulous Hair. Ribbons. Dinosaurs. Rage comics. Air Guitar. Montages. Swooning. Red Grapes. Sleeping. Paper Bags. Stockings. Canvas. Daydreaming. Piles of Book's. Cheap Dvd's. Cheeky Emails. Hand-made anythings. Whispering. Red Hair. Roller Derby. Jam. Laughing. Raspberry Lollies. Hugs. Letter's. Family. Batman. Flowers. Avocado. Art. Text's. Love.


Sunday, October 21, 2007

Something interesting happened to me this morning, as i walked out of my room and down to the house for a shower and such i was swooped by about a million magpies. It would of been two, but in my half-asleep, stumbling state it felt like a scene remenicent of that stupid movie about the ten plagues with Hilary Swank and the locusts, remember the one?
Anyway, Usually the magpies are quite good around where i live, they sing to me from the safe distance of the trees, and i don't set my cat on them. We have an agreement. But today they breached the agreement and i couldnt figure out why, they went for me again when i came trudging back up to the room and then i spotted the reason for their attack. Two of their little babies had fallen out of a tree and were waiting patiently on the lawn for a heroic rescuer.
Cue me into the picture.
I don't know how the little fluffy babies had been floor-bound but they looked shitty, tired and in need of a good feed and nap. If it's possible for birds to look that way. So armed with a towel, a make-shift nest and a ladder i managed to catch said birdies, relocate them to the safety of the roof and stand back and enjoy my delightful handi-work.
When i got home from work today i went out and checked up on my little friends, who i had named Fred and George, (Yes, i get attached to creatures very quickly, i have a habit of naming spiders that live for more than three days in our bathroom) Fred had moved on, higher into the tree and to freedom, but fat little George is still out there near his nest waiting for the right time to move, which was, probably about four hours ago.
The problem is, there is a good chance that Serial Killer trapped in the furry overweight body of my ginger cat will have most likely polished off poor George by the time i wake tommorow, so i hope he gets his act into gear and buggers off.
So, we will see what happens.
I'm off to see SuperBad. With that fat guy who's name slips my mind.


GOODBYE gentle viewers.

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