Comic Relief (Red Nose Day) today. To mark this day, here is one of my blog entries from long ago for you to enjoy all over again:
Thursday 28 June 2007
A troubling affair this evening with the psychotic swan that blights my life on a regular basis.
He is a complete head-case. The two young ladies employed by the Environment Agency to maintain the rivers and their banks once told Maisie that he is the most dangerously-crazed nutter that they've ever encountered. And they once had to catch and remove a pike from the water, so they know of what they speak.
The swan's equally nut-job wife has managed to hatch nine cygnets, so daddy is extra-tetchy at present. Actually, the much milder-mannered swan on the private lake behind the fence has a wife who is sitting on babes as I type this. He wasn't swimming too close to her the other day, so perhaps they have had words. Personally, I suspect the psycho-swan has been playing away from home and may have forced himself upon the lady. I wouldn't put it past him. He could well be the real father of those eggs. If they hatch and grow up to be large and white, with long slender necks and orange beaks, we shall know the sordid truth...
This evening, I was being delightfully entertained by a group of young ducks. One poor lass managed a total of eleven - ELEVEN!! - eggs earlier this year. All of them hatched, foxes and rats kept away, and each duckling has survived to maturity, I am happy to say. I like ducks. They are harmless and they amuse me. I was finding particular glee in watching the eleven adolescent ducks mercilessly goading the evil swan. Three or four would swim up to him quacking until he turned on them, shouting and using words inappropriate for the ears of children, while chasing them and flapping his over-sized wings. The ducks would be just too fast for him and he would give up, only to have three or four more of them pop out from under the river bank right behind him. The eleven of them were a perfect example of a team working in unison to annoy a git and he rose to it every time. A lady watching from the bank was very worried and said that we should stop the swan; he was trying to kill the ducks. He would have killed them, if he'd caught them, but it only took a few minutes' observation to see that those little lads knew exactly what they were doing. The calm nearby presence of the ducks' mother proved that psycho-swan-baiting was an oft-practised game.
Of course, while the white-feathered-wacko was wasting his energy on cheeky ducklings, the stupid oaf was leaving his own wife and children entirely unattended. I could have gobbled up the lot of them and he wouldn't even have noticed. But I know enough about ladies with pups to leave WELL alone. Kipling was right: the female of the species is more deadly than the male. Besides, watching the hated swan repeatedly falling prey to the ducks' pranks was far too funny to miss.
Unfortunately, when he was growing tired, the swan spotted me laughing and started paddling angrily in my direction.
Oh sh*t.
He accosted me before I could slink away. He demanded to know what I was laughing at. "Nothing, Sir." I replied.
"You were laughing at those little b*st*rds." I assured him that he was mistaken. He repeated his original question.
Perhaps - on pondering this with the benefit of hindsight - I should simply have told him the truth. Instead I explained that I was laughing at the thought I'd just had, which was that if I had a face like those of his wife and children I would shave my bottom and learn to walk backwards. For some reason, the evil beast took exception to this and flew at me, howling in rage. I (bravely) shrieked in terror and my partner quickly put herself between me and the irate swan. She sheltered me with her body while the swan attempted to assault me in the most foul manner. A tactical withdrawal was clearly in order.
"I hope all your children have really tiny willies!" I screamed at the flapping swan as my partner dragged me away from the scene, "And that INCLUDES the girls!!"
At this point, my partner scooped up all 20kg of me and legged it.
For her bravery I will award her, for one night only, an extra half-inch of duvet. I hate that swan.
Good night.
He is a complete head-case. The two young ladies employed by the Environment Agency to maintain the rivers and their banks once told Maisie that he is the most dangerously-crazed nutter that they've ever encountered. And they once had to catch and remove a pike from the water, so they know of what they speak.
The swan's equally nut-job wife has managed to hatch nine cygnets, so daddy is extra-tetchy at present. Actually, the much milder-mannered swan on the private lake behind the fence has a wife who is sitting on babes as I type this. He wasn't swimming too close to her the other day, so perhaps they have had words. Personally, I suspect the psycho-swan has been playing away from home and may have forced himself upon the lady. I wouldn't put it past him. He could well be the real father of those eggs. If they hatch and grow up to be large and white, with long slender necks and orange beaks, we shall know the sordid truth...
This evening, I was being delightfully entertained by a group of young ducks. One poor lass managed a total of eleven - ELEVEN!! - eggs earlier this year. All of them hatched, foxes and rats kept away, and each duckling has survived to maturity, I am happy to say. I like ducks. They are harmless and they amuse me. I was finding particular glee in watching the eleven adolescent ducks mercilessly goading the evil swan. Three or four would swim up to him quacking until he turned on them, shouting and using words inappropriate for the ears of children, while chasing them and flapping his over-sized wings. The ducks would be just too fast for him and he would give up, only to have three or four more of them pop out from under the river bank right behind him. The eleven of them were a perfect example of a team working in unison to annoy a git and he rose to it every time. A lady watching from the bank was very worried and said that we should stop the swan; he was trying to kill the ducks. He would have killed them, if he'd caught them, but it only took a few minutes' observation to see that those little lads knew exactly what they were doing. The calm nearby presence of the ducks' mother proved that psycho-swan-baiting was an oft-practised game.
Of course, while the white-feathered-wacko was wasting his energy on cheeky ducklings, the stupid oaf was leaving his own wife and children entirely unattended. I could have gobbled up the lot of them and he wouldn't even have noticed. But I know enough about ladies with pups to leave WELL alone. Kipling was right: the female of the species is more deadly than the male. Besides, watching the hated swan repeatedly falling prey to the ducks' pranks was far too funny to miss.
Unfortunately, when he was growing tired, the swan spotted me laughing and started paddling angrily in my direction.
Oh sh*t.
He accosted me before I could slink away. He demanded to know what I was laughing at. "Nothing, Sir." I replied.
"You were laughing at those little b*st*rds." I assured him that he was mistaken. He repeated his original question.
Perhaps - on pondering this with the benefit of hindsight - I should simply have told him the truth. Instead I explained that I was laughing at the thought I'd just had, which was that if I had a face like those of his wife and children I would shave my bottom and learn to walk backwards. For some reason, the evil beast took exception to this and flew at me, howling in rage. I (bravely) shrieked in terror and my partner quickly put herself between me and the irate swan. She sheltered me with her body while the swan attempted to assault me in the most foul manner. A tactical withdrawal was clearly in order.
"I hope all your children have really tiny willies!" I screamed at the flapping swan as my partner dragged me away from the scene, "And that INCLUDES the girls!!"
At this point, my partner scooped up all 20kg of me and legged it.
For her bravery I will award her, for one night only, an extra half-inch of duvet. I hate that swan.
Good night.
Looking back over my earlier blog entries, I am somewhat shocked to discover that I have become less buoyant, less witty, less tolerant. In short, I am become a whingeing old git. I shall try and mend my ways from now on... Why am I more moved by Comic Relief this year? Perhaps I have grown a little more 'human' than formerly... Perhaps it was because I witnessed celebrities whom I admire (and some whom I have interviewed for magazine articles) debase themselves in the worthy cause of fundraising. Or perhaps it was because I viewed a clip where a 15-month-old baby girl with the same name as my partner almost died from malaria - but was saved with equipment provided by Comic Relief.
No matter what we do - whether it is the fabulous Miranda Hart cooking and dancing, Radio 1 DJ Chris Moyles broadcasting the longest-ever radio show in history - or a little child donating his 50p pocket money - we can make a REAL difference. There should NEVER be starving babies in this world while others have a few extra pence to themselves. MY partner and I donated what little we could. I urge you to visit http://www.bbc.co.uk/rednoseday/ and do the same. Thank you.
Good night.
5 comments:
Well, Sir Jazz, I have to agree it's kinda fun to read about that crazy old git of a swan. I wonder if he's still around? I wonder if he's mellowed at all with age? I doubt he's gained any real wisdom.
I like your picture with the red nose. Very handsome!
All my love to you and your Ruth.
XXOO, Lance
Jasper old friend - - - you're lookin' like Jasper the red-nosed reindog or something!!
Regular cleaning and maintaining of the pipes is very essential to make sure all is well.Nice story shared here.
very funny and enjoyable to read.
Nice story. Great read.
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