Morning, I’m very tired today as once again the Morlocks staying in the room opposite were very noisy at 3am. Chantal was in floods of tears yet again, and someone else, I think Darren was angry about this. I think he felt manipulated by her tears but obviously he couldn’t articulate this as he is a Morlock and had had twelve pints of White Lightening. So he was forced to shout in that particular range and timbre that only true peasant stock can attain.
But enough of that.
Last night I walked home from work, keenly looking about myself in case of any errant Alan Moores. I didn’t see any Alans but I did spot a place with a sign on it saying “the Budgerigar society”. I found this strangely hilarious. I wonder if they have meetings every week and say things like “hands up who likes budgerigars” and they all put their hands up, and every now and then they throw in a trick question like “hands up who likes parakeets” and one bloke accidentally puts his hands up and gets chucked out.
I also suspect that someone - probably the host - bakes cookies in the shape of budgies and serves them on a plate which is protected by a doily. You aren’t allowed to eat the cookies until a certain point in the proceedings and you are only allowed ONE each.
I imagine you have to eat with a serviette so you don't get crumbs everywhere. And the host will tell you in a lot of detail about how she made the eyes look so real, and in fact they look a bit too real, but she won't eat one as she is on a diet.... Although she doesn’t eat one she will be offended, indeed disgusted if you don’t have one. And she’s marked out little feathers in icing sugar. And her own budgie is called Mr Whistles and is the most loved budgerigar in the world, but if you meet him he looks suicidal. And you aren’t allowed to say “budgie” it has to be budgerigar.
Either that or it is a load of people sitting on perches, looking at themselves in little mirrors and eating millet.
