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It is indeed the summer months. I am as pink as a lobster with road rage, in a pot of boiling acid. Or something like that, anyhow. I had no idea that i had caught the sun quite so bad, until i glimpsed myself in the full-length bedroom mirror. I saw a clown’s face staring back at me. A clown’s face without much makeup – the worst kind of clown. A cheapskate clown, who shells out only for a slap of rouge on the cheeks and bridge of the nose. And white power around the eyes – damn those sunglasses. Still, this orange is not prone to peel. I will brown nicely tomorrow, like a bruised banana.

Not wishing to drone on about my confrontations with animals, but… Enjoying a pleasant stroll this lunchtime, topping up said tan, i happened upon a blackbird on the lawn. Nothing unusual there. Except that he (or she, i didn’t sex it) seemed to be gesticulating with its wing towards a patch five yards to the left. What was his feathery flying piece pointing at? No sooner had i gingerly stepped onto the grass than the bird squawked and fluttered towards me, knocking me off-kilter. I have witnessed such aggression when these creatures are defending their nest eggs, but not for a worm or two. Strange. I peered closer, and spied between the blades a one pound coin. What a find! I went for it, but again the bird attacked. I screamed, ‘What on earth would you do with the currency? It is of no use to you.’

Five minutes we tussled. A bus driver alighted from his parked-up vehicle to ask what the matter was. What’s worse, the incident took place next to a university, so a number of students began to mill about, collecting under the shade of the trees to get a fairer view. I was getting hotter. My face, sunburnt to start with, was now scarlet with exertion. I had reached that tipping point, where backing down would be unforgivable. With my reputation in tatters, i made a lunge for the money and duly felt the excruciating pain of a peck in the forearm. I swung my arm round and grabbed the bastard by the beak. Forcing its head into the soil, i brought down my fist, breaking its neck. The crowd gasped – a sorrowful gasp. Whispers of, ‘He’s killed a bird.’ I picked up the coin and merely stated, ‘Finders keepers,’ before taking the pitiful walk back to work.

Here’s some lovely pictures I took shortly before the death…

trees

steeple

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