birds

Road Rage

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I’m a bit like that big bunny in Alice In Wonderland I think, always zooming around, muttering, “Late, late, late!” I haven’t had a look at yesterday’s action on the great old world wide web yet. Epic monthly shops require epic monthly unpacks, and I didn’t do much of that when we got home last night. Button, the baby weaver bird (formerly known as Kewpie – weavers are a bit like Prince that way), had spent his first full day without his dear old mum (me), since he was blown or booted out of his nest when he was a tiny chick. When we got home, he refused to let me near him until I’d changed into shorts, scruffy T-shirt, and ruffled my hair a bit – not at all liking the look of my civilised town persona. Jelly (the not so baby weaver bird), was a tiny, yellow, quivering mass of rage at having to go without her favourite bouncy toy, perch, and supplier of chocolate and other various really healthy nibbles during the course of each day. So it took a while to stop her from trying to twist large chunks off my earlobes. The parrots had obviously had enough of weavers in general, so they headed off to the kitchen on their own to help with unpacking things, and helpfully chose to unpack, or should I say, chew holes in, a couple of bags of really hard to re-seal Almond flour and desiccated coconut. Obviously I gave up on the unpacking for the day at that point. My feathered guys have ways of getting what they want.

Yesterday went fairly well – apart from the roadblocks. Usually the return trip averages out at a minimum of eight roadblock stops. These are one of the very few things that actually really make me cross. Try as I might, and I really have tried, I can’t think of any justification for being so interfered with. Apart from the usual, “How are you? Where are you going? Have you got any cigarettes? You must give my three Aunties here a lift to Samora Machel Avenue. Give me that Coke?” questions, there are days when everyone’s on the same page, and you get harangued – and spot fined – for having a blue fire extinguisher instead of a red one, having apparently excessive amounts of mud on your wheel arches – regardless of the fact that you’ve just driven forty kilometres on four inches of slippery mud, or having more than three squished bugs on your windscreen. Having a “dirty” car here is punishable by a fine. Not cool.

It quickly became apparent that the topic of yesterday was Radio Licences. For once a legitimate request, but equally unusually, one that I found myself firmly in disagreement with. I’m with the wrong side of the law on this one. If they’d said, “Give me thirty bucks, just because… I want it.”, they’d have had a lot bigger chance of getting it. But I don’t see why I should buy a radio licence if I don’t listen to the radio. Ever. At all. I never, ever, do. Why would I listen to boring radio when I have all of Pink Floyd on CD anyway? I never installed the radio – it’s factory fitted, and came with the car – and I’ve never so much as attempted to figure out how to even switch it on. Normally we just hand over the fine so as to avoid around a total of two hours wasted at these stops, and I normally shut my beak to avoid the always real possibility of getting yourself into proper trouble. Yesterday I thought, “The hell with that!”, and was so adamant that both the radio and CD player were in fact vital parts of the GPS system, that I think we were let off because they really thought that I actually believed that, and felt a little sorry for me – being so obviously thick. On a couple of occasions, much nodding agreement ensued, and we were ushered forward with unusual vigour. This probably won’t be the end of this topic, but I think I’d rather pay hundreds to have the radio removed, and have a much less pretty console, than be forced to hand over any cash in this case, no matter how small the amount. The law is something I have the greatest respect for, but having dozens of people hanging around in the middle of the road, taking thirty bucks from every comer for something they don’t use is just wrong, and I won’t pay it willingly at all. Anyway. Other than joining the criminal community, the day was brilliant.

I descended on a most cool art shop, and relieved it of quite a lot of oil paint, water mixable oil paint, oil pastels, artists brushes, general arty stuff, and much more for my new cover and Lapillus painting project. Now to see if I can. I forgot to get anything to actually paint on though, so I’ve been wandering innocently around, and have eyeballed some nicely cut squares of hardboard, which I’ll appropriate later after an unsuspecting Angus has zoomed off on his bike. If you’re going to go to the dark side, you may as well go all the way. I’ve also semi-finished my first poem in my head, between radio licence altercations, which I might just be brave enough to share with my friends tomorrow. I imagine that all this extreme stretching of the truth – well OK – bald-faced lies then, and plans of grand theft hardboard, are probably worse for my general karma than eating a kilogram of onions – although I’m thinking that that might be offensive on more than the spiritual plane only, so I can see where the yogis of old were coming from, but right now I’m not caring a lot, and also thinking that sometimes trying to be good, turning the other cheek, and not nicking your husbands bits of lurking hardboard, is just downright boring. So, for today, I’ll just be bad. Why not?

Till next time friends. xxx

Sun