Nixta Sinks

I woke up this morning to an enthusiastic argument between an agitated crow and a slow-witted car horn. It went back and forth, on and on, from about 7:45 to 7:50. That doesn't seem like a great deal of time, but in terms of the attention-span of a car horn, it's pretty fucking monumental. Crows... They're evil motherfuckers. Not only do they, as everyone knows, fashion hooks out of wire to get stuff out of tubes, they also drop nuts into the paths of cars to crack them open. Not just anywhere, mind, but at Pedestrian Crossings, so that they can have a safe moment or two to peck at the pickings.

New World Order

So, no, it's probably within the attention-span of a crow, and with that in mind it was a foregone conclusion that the car horn would give up and go and pick on a pedestrian at 14th and C.

That crow had friends. And they had a lot to talk about, it seems, after the car drove off. About 2 hours later, they were still going at it, and not single break for a glass of water between them. Arseholes. I took a look outside and found that they had migrated to another tree, closer to my window, and were haranguing a large hawk. I don't know if it was Palemale or Lola in that tree, but whoever it was sure as hell didn't seem phased. Before we could get a photo though, the bastard had flown off (hopefully to find another rat-dog to abduct).

Tunbridge Wells has its own form of intelligent life, it seems.

I've worked with worse

I was put on to the megalithic brainpower wondering the streets of Royal Tunbridge Wells by Three Beautiful Things, a blog of singular ordinariness whose one purpose appears to be to take completely pointless banalities and present them in a positive light. Since this is not the way I think (in fact, I believe I'm almost the opposite), I thought I'd give it a quick go. After all, it seems like a very healthy positive approach to life. Let me think. Hmmmmm.

1. Toilet paper didn't break today, so my hand wasn't covered in shit as usual.
2. I didn't catch the pervert living in the flat across from me masturbating over his online swimsuit catalogue.
3. It's not horribly hot or cold in the apartment.

That doesn't seem too difficult. I'll try another:

1. The contents of the dishwasher are clean.
2. My scalp doesn't hurt (apparently I don't have psoriasis, I have something else).
3. The dry-cleaning is done.

Perhaps a little too much into the whole cleanliness theme there. But it's definitely getting more and more difficult:

1. That fucking ambulance whoot-whoot-whooting at the junction has pissed off.
2. The truck reversing is less irritating than the ambulance was.
3. It snowed last night and everything looked really nice although it turned to shit and mud the moment the sun got anywhere worthwhile in the sky.

Yeah, I don't think the right way. The glass is never half full. It's not even half empty. In fact, some fucker's usually drunk most of my beer and left me with some backwash, if I'm lucky. You can keep your poor, abused and mocked, mentally deficient "joys", Royal Tunbridge Wells, or perhaps try to help them rather than treat them like a tourist attraction. I imagine a typical little pleasure of RTW to be wandering into Dixons and pointing at the improbably-employed retard using the video-camera on its side, pretend to be interested in buying something, and then running out leaving the door wide open. This is what happens south of the river of a sunny afternoon... At least there's no mention of celebrity.

When I was growing up in Cambridge there was a rather odd woman who used to goose-step everywhere. We called her Marching Mary. And I was terrified of ever crossing her path on the way to school.

Labels: crows, mental health, noise pollution, ridicule