So, they've decided to cut down our trees (well, they're not ours, just the ones that are in the town square) because the birds are congregating on them, and shitting on the ground, which causes an awfy smell?
Jesus H! What are the council road sweepers for? Should they not be clearing the mess up, rather than just cutting down all the trees? Or even get rid of the birds! We could get a council cat to patrol the area. All it would cost is the frequent rescue fees from the fire brigade!
What purpose do these birds serve? W£hat the fuck are they for?
A couple of weeks of pot-shots from the local rifle club, and we'd be rid of them for good. But no, the council wouldn't spend their (or should I say, our) cash on cleaning the corpses from the streets, would they?
No, they'd far rather shift the problem sideways and just cut down all the trees.
Where do they reckon these flocks of starlings will go? Do they seriously think that they'll all just shuffle off back to their nests like a football crowd going home after an abandoned game? No, they'll migrate to the nearest group of trees, probably down by the riverside, where they'll continue to stink up the place.
Despite what it says in the above article, there's nothing wrong with the trees - they are pretty much perfectly healthy.
This is just idiotic council cost-cutting of the laziest kind.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
The End Of The Mini-Stalker Episode...
It came as a shock to us all...
A mini-stalker, appearing at our door two or three times a day, annoying us by hanging round and offering to help us with the garden, in return for the endless reinflation of tyres.
But, in scenes reminiscent of the Iranian Embassy Seige, the offending mini-stalker was hunted down like a wild animal, and banished forever from our door.
All it required was some welding gear, an irate neighbour and one small, ginger, mini-stalker!
Ahh, the peace and quiet is marvellous....
(I'm sure I'll tell the full story one day!)
A mini-stalker, appearing at our door two or three times a day, annoying us by hanging round and offering to help us with the garden, in return for the endless reinflation of tyres.
But, in scenes reminiscent of the Iranian Embassy Seige, the offending mini-stalker was hunted down like a wild animal, and banished forever from our door.
All it required was some welding gear, an irate neighbour and one small, ginger, mini-stalker!
Ahh, the peace and quiet is marvellous....
(I'm sure I'll tell the full story one day!)
Friday, August 05, 2005
Ya Gotta Laugh....?
Copied and Pasted directly from Overheard In New York!
And Lo! 'Tis funny...
Chick #1: I went back on birth control this month. I'm using the Ring, except I don't know if I'm using it right. I don't want to take it out every time we have sex.
Chick #2: Wait, you shouldn't have to take it out during sex.
Chick #1: That's what I thought. Except, maybe I'm using it wrong, but I had sex and then afterward we couldn't find it.
Chick #2: It can't get lost up there!
Chick #1: It went so far up my cooter. And I swear I must have put my whole fist in there to fish it out.
Chick #2: There's nowhere for it to go! It can't get past your cervix.
Chick #1: How far up is my cervix?
Chick #2: Well, depends how long your vagina is. I think everyone's is different. Maybe you have, like, a subway tunnel in there.
And Lo! 'Tis funny...
Chick #1: I went back on birth control this month. I'm using the Ring, except I don't know if I'm using it right. I don't want to take it out every time we have sex.
Chick #2: Wait, you shouldn't have to take it out during sex.
Chick #1: That's what I thought. Except, maybe I'm using it wrong, but I had sex and then afterward we couldn't find it.
Chick #2: It can't get lost up there!
Chick #1: It went so far up my cooter. And I swear I must have put my whole fist in there to fish it out.
Chick #2: There's nowhere for it to go! It can't get past your cervix.
Chick #1: How far up is my cervix?
Chick #2: Well, depends how long your vagina is. I think everyone's is different. Maybe you have, like, a subway tunnel in there.
Stalker Update...
Well, our mini-stalker problem hasn't got any worse. Or better.
Every day he's at the door, yesterday he arrived on three separate occasions.
I've told him not to ring the doorbell, as The Wife is on night-shift and was woken up by him at lunchtime on Tuesday. So now he just knocks on the door...
I've re-inflated his tyre three times, straightened his handlebars twice and put the chain back on three times. The last time the chain came off, I couldn't unravel it. He came back later that day with it all fixed. He'd done it himself...
I've told him that his front tyre has got a slow puncture, and to take it to the bike shop for repairs.
But why should he? Every time it goes flat there's some mug living in yon house over there who'll fix it for nothing!
I've tried asking why his Dad won't fix his bike for him, but he said that his Dad isn't a "biker person" like me.
The Wife is getting on my back about the constant interruptions, but she won't do anything about it! It's my job, apparently...after all, it's me he comes to see...
Trouble is, I don't have the heart to just tell him to "Fuck off and don't bother us again!"
Soft as shite? Me ?
You betcha....
Every day he's at the door, yesterday he arrived on three separate occasions.
I've told him not to ring the doorbell, as The Wife is on night-shift and was woken up by him at lunchtime on Tuesday. So now he just knocks on the door...
I've re-inflated his tyre three times, straightened his handlebars twice and put the chain back on three times. The last time the chain came off, I couldn't unravel it. He came back later that day with it all fixed. He'd done it himself...
I've told him that his front tyre has got a slow puncture, and to take it to the bike shop for repairs.
But why should he? Every time it goes flat there's some mug living in yon house over there who'll fix it for nothing!
I've tried asking why his Dad won't fix his bike for him, but he said that his Dad isn't a "biker person" like me.
The Wife is getting on my back about the constant interruptions, but she won't do anything about it! It's my job, apparently...after all, it's me he comes to see...
Trouble is, I don't have the heart to just tell him to "Fuck off and don't bother us again!"
Soft as shite? Me ?
You betcha....
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
...And About Time, Too!
Monday, August 01, 2005
Some Advice Please...?
Last Thursday, I think, there was a knock at the door. It was a wee laddie with his bike.
"Aye?" I says.
"Sorry tae bother ye Mister, but huv' ye goat a pump fur ma' bike..?" he says with a broad Edinburgh accent.
"Aye, I do! Here, I'll give you a hand."
So I go out, and his front tyre was nearly flat. I take my handily placed bicycle pump and proceed to reinflate his tyre. He was just a wee laddie, ginger hair and quite inquisitive. And really polite.
As I'm pumping the tyre up, he apologises - "Ah'm sorry fur comin' tae yer door, mister", to which I can only say "It's no bother". Well, it's not often you see such politeness from one so young.
So, bike back in order, he's off into the distance with the friendly advice - "Keep an eye on that tyre, it might have a slow puncture..." ringing in the late afternoon air.
At this point, I thought that'd be the end of it. I'd done my good deed for the day.
Couple of days later (Saturday), we're due a delivery of 2 tonnes of stone-chips for the garden, and they duly arrive in the morning. The Wife has arranged the borrowing of a 'borrow, and she arrives with it in the late afternoon.
So, with the garden all covered by the recommended groundcloth stuff, I proceed to shovel these 2 tonnes of chips, transporting to The Wife in the garden via the aforementioned wheelbarrow.
Halfway through this monumental (or just mental?) task, who should show up?
That's right, the wee ginger lad. With questions.
WGL - "What are ye doin', mister?"
TMBTB - "I'm shovelling these stones into the wheelbarrow, and taking them to the garden"
WGL - "Can I help?"
TMBTB - "Sorry, but no, it's too heavy for a wee laddie like you."
At which, he decides to start filling a pail with these stone-chips, and carry them into the garden. Next thing, The Wife has got him collecting the stones that have fallen on the ground (off my shovel!).
"Good!" I'm thinking. "That'll keep him out of trouble, and out of harm's way."
Even when we adjourned for a break, he still wanted to carry on. We had to tell him we were going for our tea before he took the hint. And off he went.
For a while.
Half an hour later, The Wife and I are back at it again, nearly ¾ done now, and from nowhere, he's back again.
As we're finishing off the job, and packing everything up, I hand him a pound coin. He seems really surprised at this, and grasps it tightly.
As he's cycling off, he says "Thanks for the pound, mister!"
"No bother wee man, you earned it!" I reply.
"OK, I'll see you tomorrow then...."
Me and The Wife were left just looking at each other.
And this morning?
The Wife goes to hang up some washing, and there he is. Again asking questions.
She comes back indoors, where I'm nursing stretched and sore muscles, and says "What are we going to do about him?"
Well, what can we do?
10 minutes later, it's raining and she has to go back out and take the washing back in again. He's still there. Asking questions.
He's everywhere, following our every move!
Fucking hell, we're being stalked by a 7-year-old !
So, my question to you all (or both of you, I've been checking my site stats!) is:-
How can we dissuade this charming, polite, inquisitive yet utterly annoying wee pest from haunting our every footstep, without causing alarm or distress?
"Aye?" I says.
"Sorry tae bother ye Mister, but huv' ye goat a pump fur ma' bike..?" he says with a broad Edinburgh accent.
"Aye, I do! Here, I'll give you a hand."
So I go out, and his front tyre was nearly flat. I take my handily placed bicycle pump and proceed to reinflate his tyre. He was just a wee laddie, ginger hair and quite inquisitive. And really polite.
As I'm pumping the tyre up, he apologises - "Ah'm sorry fur comin' tae yer door, mister", to which I can only say "It's no bother". Well, it's not often you see such politeness from one so young.
So, bike back in order, he's off into the distance with the friendly advice - "Keep an eye on that tyre, it might have a slow puncture..." ringing in the late afternoon air.
At this point, I thought that'd be the end of it. I'd done my good deed for the day.
Couple of days later (Saturday), we're due a delivery of 2 tonnes of stone-chips for the garden, and they duly arrive in the morning. The Wife has arranged the borrowing of a 'borrow, and she arrives with it in the late afternoon.
So, with the garden all covered by the recommended groundcloth stuff, I proceed to shovel these 2 tonnes of chips, transporting to The Wife in the garden via the aforementioned wheelbarrow.
Halfway through this monumental (or just mental?) task, who should show up?
That's right, the wee ginger lad. With questions.
WGL - "What are ye doin', mister?"
TMBTB - "I'm shovelling these stones into the wheelbarrow, and taking them to the garden"
WGL - "Can I help?"
TMBTB - "Sorry, but no, it's too heavy for a wee laddie like you."
At which, he decides to start filling a pail with these stone-chips, and carry them into the garden. Next thing, The Wife has got him collecting the stones that have fallen on the ground (off my shovel!).
"Good!" I'm thinking. "That'll keep him out of trouble, and out of harm's way."
Even when we adjourned for a break, he still wanted to carry on. We had to tell him we were going for our tea before he took the hint. And off he went.
For a while.
Half an hour later, The Wife and I are back at it again, nearly ¾ done now, and from nowhere, he's back again.
As we're finishing off the job, and packing everything up, I hand him a pound coin. He seems really surprised at this, and grasps it tightly.
As he's cycling off, he says "Thanks for the pound, mister!"
"No bother wee man, you earned it!" I reply.
"OK, I'll see you tomorrow then...."
Me and The Wife were left just looking at each other.
And this morning?
The Wife goes to hang up some washing, and there he is. Again asking questions.
She comes back indoors, where I'm nursing stretched and sore muscles, and says "What are we going to do about him?"
Well, what can we do?
10 minutes later, it's raining and she has to go back out and take the washing back in again. He's still there. Asking questions.
He's everywhere, following our every move!
Fucking hell, we're being stalked by a 7-year-old !
So, my question to you all (or both of you, I've been checking my site stats!) is:-
How can we dissuade this charming, polite, inquisitive yet utterly annoying wee pest from haunting our every footstep, without causing alarm or distress?
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