If you had to come back as a bird
A well-known resident of Littlestone recently asked me "If you had to come back as a bird, what species would it be?"
Now, I like questions like that!
He said that he wanted to come back as a Bonxie - to quote - "so I wouldn't have to take any shit from anyone"
My choice was altogether more twee and feeble. I would like to come back as a Common Swift. Why? Well, they look great, all sweeping arcs and scythe-like wings, screaming in the summer air, looping-the-loop, dive-bombing, chasing across the roof-tops and then becoming specks in the sky as they rise up and up to sleep on the wing with all the cares of the world beneath them. They spend all of their time in the warmth (apart from those foolish early individuals that arrive in mid-April - I would make sure that I didn't arrive until mid-May). My choice of summer residency would be the south coast of England, so I could hammer along the chalk cliffs of Sussex and Kent, fly around the spire of Chichester cathedral, spend lazy afternoons floating above the downs and maybe hawk over the gravel pits of Dungeness on overcast days.
It would be my luck to come back as one of those ropey town feral pigeons, spending my day feeding on crumbs whilst grovelling amongst the detritus of humanity, hobbling about on deformed legs, roosting on shop-front ledges in a world lit by 24-hour street lighting and lulled into fitful bouts of sleep by constant traffic noise.
As you can see, I haven't given this much thought...
I have added Wealdgirl's blog to my list of worthies on the right hand side of this page. If you are a Dungeness regular you will know her identity!
Now, I like questions like that!
He said that he wanted to come back as a Bonxie - to quote - "so I wouldn't have to take any shit from anyone"
My choice was altogether more twee and feeble. I would like to come back as a Common Swift. Why? Well, they look great, all sweeping arcs and scythe-like wings, screaming in the summer air, looping-the-loop, dive-bombing, chasing across the roof-tops and then becoming specks in the sky as they rise up and up to sleep on the wing with all the cares of the world beneath them. They spend all of their time in the warmth (apart from those foolish early individuals that arrive in mid-April - I would make sure that I didn't arrive until mid-May). My choice of summer residency would be the south coast of England, so I could hammer along the chalk cliffs of Sussex and Kent, fly around the spire of Chichester cathedral, spend lazy afternoons floating above the downs and maybe hawk over the gravel pits of Dungeness on overcast days.
It would be my luck to come back as one of those ropey town feral pigeons, spending my day feeding on crumbs whilst grovelling amongst the detritus of humanity, hobbling about on deformed legs, roosting on shop-front ledges in a world lit by 24-hour street lighting and lulled into fitful bouts of sleep by constant traffic noise.
As you can see, I haven't given this much thought...
I have added Wealdgirl's blog to my list of worthies on the right hand side of this page. If you are a Dungeness regular you will know her identity!
Comments
In the winter I could loaf around inland urban sprawls watching for freshly washed cars to swoop down on and crap all over before alighting on the nearest roof and calling loudly in a mocking manner.
During the summer, I would move to the coastal towns whereby I would cherry pick my victims. Preferrably weighing 20 stone, wearing Lonsdale shirts and carrying an ice cream. I would then swoop down to grab the ice cream and fly slowly enough away so they would run after me in vain for all to laugh at.
I'm nasty ain't I?