If it's not the worry of crumbling cliffs keeping me awake, it's the flipping pterodactyls flying around, squawking and fighting with each other all night.
Why don't they warn you, when you move to a millionaire's playground by the briny, that seagulls like nothing more than a good fight after a hard day's pecking at the bin bags? Maybe they've found a few drops left at the bottom of all those cast out White Lightning cans in Augusta Road.
9 comments:
They ar'nt fighting, they're making more of the B*gg*rs
Cripes. You know, I really am coming around to the idea that Gullbusters are providing a very useful service in these parts!
I prefer asterisks, RSM. The umlaut doesn't really cover your modesty.
By the way, you must have gone a bit overboard to get removed from James Bond's site this morning.
He'll come after you with his pen/gun thing if you're not careful mate.
You need to observe the rats with wings more closely Richard if you are going to slum it down here. 10.30 anon, clearly a long term resident, has described what you were witnessing perfectly. I suppose if you had to wait a whole year for a 'wing over' you might be equally vociferous and take a little longer than the average 2 mins for us humans.
Apologies. I can see that you're all a lot more experienced in these matters than I am.
It reminds me of the time when I was living in a flat in Wandsworth and called the police because I thought the woman next door was being stabbed.
Perhaps she was.
Not in the way that you imagined, maybe, but being stabbed all the same.
Could be bank holiday wistfullness but that brings to mind a rather gaping hole in my own life!
I'm not sure my readers want to hear about your gaping hole, Lucy. Save that for one of those other blogs.
I'll wager an insane amount of money that they do.
But don't worry, I'll not mention my desperate emptiness again.
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