The Glamorous Life, it's not.

I know some of you out there think I live a glamorous life here. I'm a train's hop from London, people around me drink tea, and warm beer, and speak all posh. You know, glamorous stuff.

I would like to contest your opinion of my life.

Those who live the "glamorous life" probably don't walk home from the town centre. I do. "Glamorous life" people probably don't have pigeons roosting in their chimneys. I do. "Glamorous life" people probably don't (happily) drive a '98 Toyota Corolla. I do. "Glamorous life" people probably aren't used as target practice by perching birds. I am.

Today, walking home from town, I was "targeted" (know what I mean, Vern?) by a perching bird. Ew. Ew ew and ew. Thankfully I was about 5 minutes from home, so I didn't have to endure the intense ickiness for too long. But it was intensely icky! Ew. I shook my hand vigorously in the air to remove as much of the "ammunition" as I could, then I found a large leaf and scrubbed for a good minute. Then I hurried home. And obsessively washed my hands.

I suppose it's not so bad if you consider that in the nearly 13,000 days I've been on this planet, this is the first time I've been "targeted" in such a way.

So, I'm guessing you don't wanna be me today? :o)