My adventures with birds

Interesting times again in the Godzilla household. I arrived home last night to find Mrs Zilla in an agitated state. She informed that she thought she’d heard a bird chirping in the cellar. This struck me as a slim possibility, we occasionally find frogs lurking in the cellar (our neighbour has quite a sophisticated pond), but I couldn’t see how a bird would make it’s way into the cellar.

The reason for Mrs Zilla’s concern stems from an early experience we had in this house. We have a “real” fireplace, one in which you can burn logs, as opposed to a fake fireplace.

One day after coming home Godzooky 1 came running out of the living room declaring that a bird was in there. Dismissing his tale as nonsense I took his hand and led him back in to prove there was no such thing.

However, he was right and I was wrong. Sitting on one of the windowsills was a young, dishevelled magpie.

Judging by it’s colour and the amount of soot in the room, it had fallen down the chimney.
Then it had obviously got frightened and panicked, flapping all round the room, covering everything in soot.

Unfortunately it wasn’t just soot that was covering everything: in it’s panicked state it had covered everything with bird crap too.

My concern was how I was going to remove this bird from the house without a) harming the bird b) getting hurt myself and c) avoiding further damage to the house.

I searched the house and formulated a possible plan. If I used a large cardboard box perhaps I could contain my avian adversary within it and then remove him from the house.

I located an archive box with lid that I had, ahem, borrowed from work, for the house move. I had neglected to return it by this point, but it was ideal. Strong and with a lid to keep the bird contained. My one worry was about the handle gaps, I didn’t fancy a beak poking through and having a good go at me.

When I returned to the living room I found the bird had flapped around some more, and his movements had caused passers by and neighbours to gather round our house.

Great, just what I needed: an audience for my endeavours. The small crowd seemed to get excited when they saw me – perhaps realising that the performance was about to begin.

I approached the bird gingerly, magpies don’t have the best of reputations for being friendly. It’s black eyes didn’t radiate warmth and friendliness, more fear and readiness to defend itself.

Thankfully the crowd outside served a positive purpose and caught the bird’s attention. I decided to act before my resolve deserted me completely. I managed to tilt the box and trap the bird between it and the window. It was nestling inside and didn’t make too much fuss at this stage. I guess the fact that it couldn’t see me now reduced the perceived threat to it.

The crowd seemed happy with this, I got a couple of thumbs up and general smiles. Then the realisation hit home – I’d left the box lid in the middle of the floor, out of reach. Shit.

I didn’t fancy trying to repeat the manoeuvre I’d just done, so called to Mrs Zilla and Godzooky 1 to come and fetch me the lid. Mrs Zilla was having none of it, despite my protestations that the bird was incapable of harming her or anyone else. This fear rubbed off on Godzooky 1, because he started saying that if mummy wasn’t going to do it why should he?

A frantic 30 seconds of haggling took place, the exact details of which elude me now. The upshot was that if Godzooky 1 brought me the lid he would get some food related treat coupled with some small gift. A bargain in anyone’s language!

Once the lid was in my hand I managed to slide it down between the box and the window and then ensured it was covering the whole of the box. Mission accomplished – bird contained within the box. Some of the gathered spectators looked slightly disappointed with the ease I’d managed it with.

As I carefully made my way to the door with the box, the bird sensed the movement and started to bang about a bit, but not as much as I feared it would.

I set the box down carefully outside, facing away from the house (I’m daft, but not too daft!). The crowd sensed what was coming next and mysteriously vanished as quickly as it had formed!

I flicked the lid down and retreated to a safe distance (I hoped). The bird seemed to take an eternity to come out of the box, probably only a matter of seconds in reality. It looked around as though it was in some new strange land, strutted around trying to look nonchalant I think, and then finally flew off.

The memory of this came flooding back to me when Mrs Zilla mentioned the possibility of a bird in the cellar. Except this time it would be a lot harder to box the bird in. Great.

I descended the steps to the cellar, and the archive box was handily placed at the bottom of the steps (yes, it should have been returned by now!) and I picked it up ready to do battle.

I searched the cellar, but could find no trace of a bird. Life for once was dealing me a good hand. I contemplated pretending finding a bird, and winding up Mrs Zilla, thrashing around with the box. Then I thought how heavily pregnant she is, and decided better of it. I was ahead on the day, no point in pushing my luck further. Besides I might never get my willy warmed again….

My adventures with birds

Interesting times again in the Godzilla household. I arrived home last night to find Mrs Zilla in an agitated state. She informed that she thought she’d heard a bird chirping in the cellar. This struck me as a slim possibility, we occasionally find frogs lurking in the cellar (our neighbour has quite a sophisticated pond), but I couldn’t see how a bird would make it’s way into the cellar.

The reason for Mrs Zilla’s concern stems from an early experience we had in this house. We have a “real” fireplace, one in which you can burn logs, as opposed to a fake fireplace.

One day after coming home Godzooky 1 came running out of the living room declaring that a bird was in there. Dismissing his tale as nonsense I took his hand and led him back in to prove there was no such thing.

However, he was right and I was wrong. Sitting on one of the windowsills was a young, dishevelled magpie.

Judging by it’s colour and the amount of soot in the room, it had fallen down the chimney.
Then it had obviously got frightened and panicked, flapping all round the room, covering everything in soot.

Unfortunately it wasn’t just soot that was covering everything: in it’s panicked state it had covered everything with bird crap too.

My concern was how I was going to remove this bird from the house without a) harming the bird b) getting hurt myself and c) avoiding further damage to the house.

I searched the house and formulated a possible plan. If I used a large cardboard box perhaps I could contain my avian adversary within it and then remove him from the house.

I located an archive box with lid that I had, ahem, borrowed from work, for the house move. I had neglected to return it by this point, but it was ideal. Strong and with a lid to keep the bird contained. My one worry was about the handle gaps, I didn’t fancy a beak poking through and having a good go at me.

When I returned to the living room I found the bird had flapped around some more, and his movements had caused passers by and neighbours to gather round our house.

Great, just what I needed: an audience for my endeavours. The small crowd seemed to get excited when they saw me – perhaps realising that the performance was about to begin.

I approached the bird gingerly, magpies don’t have the best of reputations for being friendly. It’s black eyes didn’t radiate warmth and friendliness, more fear and readiness to defend itself.

Thankfully the crowd outside served a positive purpose and caught the bird’s attention. I decided to act before my resolve deserted me completely. I managed to tilt the box and trap the bird between it and the window. It was nestling inside and didn’t make too much fuss at this stage. I guess the fact that it couldn’t see me now reduced the perceived threat to it.

The crowd seemed happy with this, I got a couple of thumbs up and general smiles. Then the realisation hit home – I’d left the box lid in the middle of the floor, out of reach. Shit.

I didn’t fancy trying to repeat the manoeuvre I’d just done, so called to Mrs Zilla and Godzooky 1 to come and fetch me the lid. Mrs Zilla was having none of it, despite my protestations that the bird was incapable of harming her or anyone else. This fear rubbed off on Godzooky 1, because he started saying that if mummy wasn’t going to do it why should he?

A frantic 30 seconds of haggling took place, the exact details of which elude me now. The upshot was that if Godzooky 1 brought me the lid he would get some food related treat coupled with some small gift. A bargain in anyone’s language!

Once the lid was in my hand I managed to slide it down between the box and the window and then ensured it was covering the whole of the box. Mission accomplished – bird contained within the box. Some of the gathered spectators looked slightly disappointed with the ease I’d managed it with.

As I carefully made my way to the door with the box, the bird sensed the movement and started to bang about a bit, but not as much as I feared it would.

I set the box down carefully outside, facing away from the house (I’m daft, but not too daft!). The crowd sensed what was coming next and mysteriously vanished as quickly as it had formed!

I flicked the lid down and retreated to a safe distance (I hoped). The bird seemed to take an eternity to come out of the box, probably only a matter of seconds in reality. It looked around as though it was in some new strange land, strutted around trying to look nonchalant I think, and then finally flew off.

The memory of this came flooding back to me when Mrs Zilla mentioned the possibility of a bird in the cellar. Except this time it would be a lot harder to box the bird in. Great.

I descended the steps to the cellar, and the archive box was handily placed at the bottom of the steps (yes, it should have been returned by now!) and I picked it up ready to do battle.

I searched the cellar, but could find no trace of a bird. Life for once was dealing me a good hand. I contemplated pretending finding a bird, and winding up Mrs Zilla, thrashing around with the box. Then I thought how heavily pregnant she is, and decided better of it. I was ahead on the day, no point in pushing my luck further. Besides I might never get my willy warmed again….

It wasn’t me

Ok – own up – who broke my blog?

Damn my tinkering ways, I see some time being spent unravelling the mysteries of templates….

It wasn’t me

Ok – own up – who broke my blog?

Damn my tinkering ways, I see some time being spent unravelling the mysteries of templates….

My name is Lionel Hutz

These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.

Q: Are you sexually active?
A: No, I just lie there.

Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July 15th.
Q: What year?
A: Every year.

Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget? Can you give us an example of something that you’ve forgotten?

Q: How old is your son, the one living with you?
A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can’t remember which.
Q: How long has he lived with you?
A: Forty-five years.

Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke up that morning?
A: He said, “Where am I, Cathy?”
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.

Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo or the occult?
A: We both do.
Q: Voodoo?
A: We do.
Q: You do?
A: Yes, voodoo.

Q: Now doctor, isn’t it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn’t know about it until the next morning?
A: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

Q: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?

Q: Were you present when your picture was taken?

Q: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
A: Yes.
Q: And what were you doing at that time?

Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there any girls?

Q: How was your first marriage terminated?
A: By death.
Q: And by whose death was it terminated?

Q: Can you describe the individual?
A: He was about medium height and had a beard.
Q: Was this a male, or a female?

Q: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
A: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed on dead people?
A: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.

Q: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
A: Oral.

Q: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
A: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
Q: And Mr. Dennington was dead at the time?
A: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy.

Q: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for blood pressure?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for breathing?
A: No.
Q: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
A: No.
Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
Q: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
A: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere.

My name is Lionel Hutz

These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.

Q: Are you sexually active?
A: No, I just lie there.

Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July 15th.
Q: What year?
A: Every year.

Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget? Can you give us an example of something that you’ve forgotten?

Q: How old is your son, the one living with you?
A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can’t remember which.
Q: How long has he lived with you?
A: Forty-five years.

Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke up that morning?
A: He said, “Where am I, Cathy?”
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.

Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo or the occult?
A: We both do.
Q: Voodoo?
A: We do.
Q: You do?
A: Yes, voodoo.

Q: Now doctor, isn’t it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn’t know about it until the next morning?
A: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

Q: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?

Q: Were you present when your picture was taken?

Q: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
A: Yes.
Q: And what were you doing at that time?

Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there any girls?

Q: How was your first marriage terminated?
A: By death.
Q: And by whose death was it terminated?

Q: Can you describe the individual?
A: He was about medium height and had a beard.
Q: Was this a male, or a female?

Q: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
A: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed on dead people?
A: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.

Q: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
A: Oral.

Q: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
A: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
Q: And Mr. Dennington was dead at the time?
A: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy.

Q: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for blood pressure?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for breathing?
A: No.
Q: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
A: No.
Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
Q: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
A: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere.

Snow

First snow of the year here in Manchester, and very disappointing too. It looked promising at first, nice big flakes and coming down at quite a rate. But as usual in this city it never lasts long.

As a child I have memories of being sent home from school because of the snow and many happy afternoons spent outside building igloos, snowmen and having huge snowball fights.

We always used to be able to get to the hills to go sledging, even though we weren’t able to make it to school! I say sledging, in reality it was Placcy Bagging. No-one actually had a sledge, but if you got an old fertiliser bag and sat on that you could actually go faster than sledges. Even with the advent of newer, cheaper plastic sledges I always favoured the Placcy Bag. You felt every bump and rock hidden beneath the snow, but the speed factor far outweighed that.

The snow always reminds of the first time Me and Mrs Zilla spent Christmas together. We’d been going out for a couple of months and I always spent Christmas in the Lakes with my mum. I drove down to pick her up and she experienced her first Lakes Christmas.

It was a great time – as we walked into the local town for Christmas Eve drinks it started to snow. Mrs Zilla had only ever experienced Manchester snow. The sheer amount and the fact it meant we were going to have white Christmas excited her.

We were due to drive back to Manchester on Boxing Day, but by then we had arranged with all my old school friends to go Placcy Bagging for old times sake. A plan was quickly formulated, we would go “sledging” and then drive straight back to Manchester.

It was a great day with most people throwing themselves down the hill with great abandon. Mrs Zilla as a newbie didn’t fancy a go, but she had a great time chatting to everyone and admiring our foolishness. Our aim was to reach the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill, we had checked it first of course! It was a great way for her to really get to know all my old friends from home.

We carried on until dark, then retired to the local hostelry in an effort to try and dry out. Having failed in that mission, Mrs Zilla was treated to the sight of me changing out of one pair of trousers into another in the pub car park. Why it didn’t occur to me to use the pub toilets is still a mystery to me. But it still makes her laugh, the thought of me struggling to change clothes while hopping around in the snow.

Snow

First snow of the year here in Manchester, and very disappointing too. It looked promising at first, nice big flakes and coming down at quite a rate. But as usual in this city it never lasts long.

As a child I have memories of being sent home from school because of the snow and many happy afternoons spent outside building igloos, snowmen and having huge snowball fights.

We always used to be able to get to the hills to go sledging, even though we weren’t able to make it to school! I say sledging, in reality it was Placcy Bagging. No-one actually had a sledge, but if you got an old fertiliser bag and sat on that you could actually go faster than sledges. Even with the advent of newer, cheaper plastic sledges I always favoured the Placcy Bag. You felt every bump and rock hidden beneath the snow, but the speed factor far outweighed that.

The snow always reminds of the first time Me and Mrs Zilla spent Christmas together. We’d been going out for a couple of months and I always spent Christmas in the Lakes with my mum. I drove down to pick her up and she experienced her first Lakes Christmas.

It was a great time – as we walked into the local town for Christmas Eve drinks it started to snow. Mrs Zilla had only ever experienced Manchester snow. The sheer amount and the fact it meant we were going to have white Christmas excited her.

We were due to drive back to Manchester on Boxing Day, but by then we had arranged with all my old school friends to go Placcy Bagging for old times sake. A plan was quickly formulated, we would go “sledging” and then drive straight back to Manchester.

It was a great day with most people throwing themselves down the hill with great abandon. Mrs Zilla as a newbie didn’t fancy a go, but she had a great time chatting to everyone and admiring our foolishness. Our aim was to reach the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill, we had checked it first of course! It was a great way for her to really get to know all my old friends from home.

We carried on until dark, then retired to the local hostelry in an effort to try and dry out. Having failed in that mission, Mrs Zilla was treated to the sight of me changing out of one pair of trousers into another in the pub car park. Why it didn’t occur to me to use the pub toilets is still a mystery to me. But it still makes her laugh, the thought of me struggling to change clothes while hopping around in the snow.

What type of Ex are you?

You Are A Friendly Ex

You and your ex are just friends – great friends really. (At least that’s what you keep telling yourself!) While civility is a good thing, make sure you’re not secretly wanting more…

What Type of Ex Are You?

What type of Ex are you?

You Are A Friendly Ex

You and your ex are just friends – great friends really. (At least that’s what you keep telling yourself!) While civility is a good thing, make sure you’re not secretly wanting more…

What Type of Ex Are You?