While we're on the subject of birds, The Old Man of the Sea, or Himself as he's usually referred to, tells me that he knows when spring's-a-comin' because the sea gulls sound different.
Apparently their calls change and sound all horny in the springtime.
Queenie, raised in an inland place where seagulls in the sky were so rare that the sight of them meant BIG WEATHER TROUBLE in the Irish Sea, thinks they sound the same all year round, but Himself knows a horny gull when he hears one.
The cry changed about a week ago, if you're at all interested in the sexual practices of Larus ridibundus, so spring's-a-comin'.
Even though the weatherman was quoted in the paper this week as saying he wouldn't put his snow shovel away until May, if he were him.
The level of nuance in the universe that Himself can read always amazes me.
Of course, my ability to remember to pay the bills on time every month amazes him.
It's all about what you're good at.
However, increasingly I feel I have gotten the shitty end of the talent stick.
I want to be able to sit on the couch and feel a small gust come in the sitting room window, just for a moment, and predict what time it's going to snow.
I want to be able to figure out what everyone on the island will be doing at the weekend, by the direction of the wind on Thursday.
I want to know what direction I am driving in the city. At all times.
Oh wait, that's right, I can now.
I have a new car.
Well a new to me car.
It has a compass in it.
I R vurry pleased with my new car.
Sorry, our new car.
A little brother for Albert.
Well, a honkin' big red 4WD brother.
Don't tell any of my green friends.
I called him The Beast.
I adore driving him. I don't care what the snotty bitch in the Prius mouthed at me the other day.
It's MY ROAD.
I'm so buying this bumper sticker.
Himself wants to put a lift kit in it. And he keeps checking out strange chrome objects online.
I think not. I don't know what a lift kit is, but it sounds too white trash even for me.
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