Pigeon parole

Somebody needs to phone the Vatican because there has been a bit of a miracle. No, a farmer in Ohio didn't repay his loan, nor did a Brazilian plant a tree - this miracle is much more satisfying than that. The pigeon/fantail/dove which was savaged by a cat and which looked like it had been caught in a threshing machine has actually survived. Not only has it survived, but its feathers are starting to grow again and it has turned aggressive! Put it this way, the next cat that chances its arm will get a nasty shock - we taught the pigeon how to look after itself, and that despite the fact that it's got a had limp (in fact we were calling it "The Gimp", but it will never catch on). The point is, it left to go back home on Friday, no doubt glad to be free of durance vile. It has been paroled!

Well, that's my good deed for the century done. I can now go back to being the horrible, despicable, grumpy, anti-social prat that the prison service created - free and  gratis I might add!

I've still got a few birds in the pigeon loft, that I built at no expense whatsoever, and I've got three baby birds, squeakers as they are called, or squabs as the dictionary would have it. Two more coming too. I'll have more young birds than old ones at this rate. Notice that I am restraining myself from making cracks about old birds - well, at my age I don't want to start making any new enemies, do I?

Okay, that's the bird news out of the way, now to the more - er - mundane and less interesting stuff.

There is no news again this week, not a word - nothing, nada, zero, zilch, absolutely nowt, as they say in Yorkshire. Actually they  say "bugger all" but that's verging on the rude at nine on a Sunday morning, so I'm not saying that.

No news about the parole hearing, nothing about my National Insurance number or driving licence - nowt. I'm going for a day out next week, but I have no idea where to or what we will be doing. What I'd like to do is go to another car boot sale. The last one I went to was very small but fascinating just the same. It's quite amazing how much stuff people flog for next to nothing and how many things you find that you simply can't live without  - until you get them back to the car park and somebody says, "What did you buy THAT for? It's junk!" Well, they DO say that one man's junk is another man's treasure.

The other day, one of the governors said that there had been a security report that I had been seen getting into a black Range Rover with blacked-out windows. Somebody has been watching far too many DVDs, that's all I can say. Which is much what the governor said too, actually. A black Range Rover with blacked-out windows! Well, I'm still here, still trying to get some sense out of the system about my parole hearing and still doing my Doctor Dolittle impressions - or, as my pal would have it, "Doctor Do-fuck-all!" And  I think THAT's quite rude for a Sunday morning in August.

The Voice In The Wilderness