This may not be the most coherent post I've ever added to the blog. I had a bad night. I saw 3am, 4am, 5am ... By the time the blackbird started bellowing his morning bulletin from the hedgerow outside our window I was in a dangerous mood. It's now the afternoon and I've reached that sickly, zombiesque state of tiredness where I'm completely harmless and largely insensible.
It occurred to me, as I listened to him joyfully trilling away, that the birds are ungrateful little blighters. We battle outside in all weathers, snow, wind, rain, to ensure they have a steady supply of food, we clean their little bird bath, we choose plants that encourage insects. In fact, the only thing we haven't done is supplied them with a house like those made by Clas Ohlson. Even if we did, the birds would still insist upon bellowing at us through the bedroom window at unseemly hours, lining up on the kitchen windowsill to stare in at us balefully when we're up a little later than normal.
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