Let the birds have it

As one of Witney’s leading vegetarianists, I’m often stopped in the street and asked for my views on animal cruelty.

‘Oh, I’m all for it’, is never my usual response.

Until now.

I was woken at 5.15am.

Look, I’m going to say that again.

I WAS WOKEN AT 5.15AM.

By the bloody birds.

The weird scratching/tapping/knocking sounds that dragged me, kicking and screaming, from the arms of Morpheus, spooked the hell out of me.

The noise seemed to be coming from *inside* the house.

And that alone was enough to spook me.

My bride slept on, unperturbed by the weird noises, drooling gently on her pillow.

I eased myself out of bed and tottered downstairs, like a refugee ‘extra’ from the film ‘I was bitten by a Sleep Zombie’ (nb: this film doesn’t actually exist, but if any Hollywood producers would like to get in touch, I could let them have a draft script by the end of the month).

Nothing.

No sign, inside the house, either of damage, or of anything that might be the source of the racket – still quite clearly audible, in the lounge.

I opened the double doors in to the garden and a flock, yes, a bloody flock of birds, flew away from the side of the house and disappeared in to the countryside.

They’d been sitting on the bedroom window-sill, tapping, rattling and generally having an Avian Mother’s Meeting.

At the expense of my sleep, obv.

Regular readers will know that for some years I have been trying to *cough* discourage cats from the garden.

And those in my circle of Tweeters (pun!) will know how much I’ve enjoyed the sight of birds, as they have hopped over the garden furniture, this year.

Well all that’s about to change.

The lack of sleep has turned me in to an irrational Meldrewesque character who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘moderation’.

I’m getting the Webley out of the loft, and woe betide any life-form that dares to interrupt my sleep.

And I’m including cats who happen to stray in to the garden when I’m not asleep, they’re on the List of Doom too.

Blame the birds.