The Irate Seagull

Please accept my insincere apologies for the late appearance of this weeks blog post. Still, I suppose twenty four hours is not really that long to wait for a few words of wisdom in the overall scheme of things. Let's face it, Tony Abbott has been the Australian Prime Minister since September and we're still waiting for him to say something even approaching half baked. Still, we live in hope that one day he'll haul his religion addled brain out of his budgie smugglers and accept the overwhelming science that human activity is causing climate change, and that it's not all "absolute crap". We guinea pigs, and I suspect even my staff in their own simple and innocent way, know that this is the most important issue facing the planet today and yet our Prime Minister is more concerned about keeping a few desperate asylum seekers away from Australia. Hey ho! We're stuck with the silly sod for at least another two and a half years. Does anyone else have a buffoon for a leader? One at a time please.

Now, the reason this blog post is late is that I was so appalled by the standard of my male staff's typing yesterday that I waited until he'd typed the final final stop and then reached up from his lap and hit the delete button with my tiny, cute, furry paw, so that he'd have to do it all over again, only this time so that it met my exacting standards. This produced a rather surprising reaction though.
 "What the faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!" He yelled. "Where'd it go? Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!" He sounded a bit like an irate seagull. I looked up at him and quietly explained in a very reasonable tone that his typing had fallen well below my high standards and that I had deleted his shoddy work and would like him to start again from scratch, this time trying to avoid the dreadful grammar and spelling. Not to mention the typing errors, but as usual all he heard was "wheek wheek wheek runble putt putt wheek" One of these days I must teach him Piglish. I have to say that my male staff's grammar has never been good. Sometime back in the middle ages when he was at school he said to his English teacher "Miss! My pen's runned out of ink. Can you borrow me one?"
 The teacher replied. "Yes of course, but where's your grammar?"
 "Oh," said my male staff. "She's dead. Dieded in nineteen sixty seven."
So you see what I'm up against. He looked around the back of his computer for some reason. I assume to see whether his work was hiding back there. "Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!" he said again when he discovered that it wasn't. This time though he stood up abruptly and catapulted me from his lap onto the laptop keyboard. As you might imagine, this startled me somewhat and I had a slight liquid accident which elicited yet another "Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!" from my male staff who grabbed me just before the laptop started to spark, fizzle, spit and smoke." This kind of thing runs in my male staff's family. Just this winter on a frigid, frosty morning in England, male staff's mad sister sent her long suffering husband a text while he was at work.
 "WINDOWS FROZEN. WON'T OPEN."
 "TRY TAPPING FRAME GENTLY WITH A HAMMER" He replied.
 "WINDOWS STILL WON'T OPEN."
 "POUR WARM WATER OVER IT." He suggested.
Minutes passed then...........
 "DID THAT. COMPUTER NOW COMPLETELY BUGGERED."

Anyway, I found myself back in my cage before I knew what had hit me and male staff stomped off in a huff muttering darkly (which would make a great name for a olde worlde Cotswold village don't you think? Muttering Darkly. For all I know there may already be a place by that name. So, I sat in my cage chewing on some hay and watched as my male staff went out onto the deck to collect the washing from the rotary clothes line. Since we live on top of a dirty great hill it is often windy and yesterday there was half a gale blowing and as my male staff unpegged a sheet it wrapped itself around his head. I called Boris and Baci out of their pigloos to look because I knew that this was going to get interesting. None of of us were disappointed.

My male staff started frantically tugging at the sheet and staggering about the deck like the ghost of a drunken sailor, bouncing off the deck railings, his arms flailing wildly as the wind further entangled the sheet. "Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!" He shouted again, and this time what with all the arm flapping he really could have won an Oscar or something for his portrayal of an irate seagull. It was brilliant. An outstanding and quite moving performance - Five stars.  Finally with a clatter he tripped over the washing basket and disappeared from view down the steps. There was a moment of silence and then a rather pained and weak "Faaaa....aaaaa.....aaaar.......rrrk" Boris, Baci and I gave each other high fives. It was turning out to be a very good day.  

Boris' Bit

Ich sink zat it is wunderbar vot Herr Billy's male staff vill do to entertain us piggies, und ve are not even havink to ask him.