Mr Robin Green Breast

In a break from the norm, I was speaking to a friend of mine today, at the greatest pub in Worcestershire, maybe, it’s called the Fox, and pints are £3. When I say a break from the norm I may give the impression that I don’t speak to friends often; balls to that, I have more friends that you can shake a stick at what ever that means, which is of course open to interpretation. I’ve got a stick, I shake it, but what is it that I shake it at, if anything? You started it don’t ask, let’s leave it where it is and ask for confirmation, any one bothered, drop me a line.

So after the very popular “Finch of the Day” feature created in the tame bird lands of Turkey a few weeks ago I’ve decided to follow it up with shit “Robin of the Month” taken by other folk feature. This one will probably run and run; people like a Robin, indifferent  of a Finch but are huge fans of the Tit, if you want to see a photo of a tit google it, you won’t see any of those on my blog, this is a family site after all.

So I thought i’d write a piece about the Robin, no rules, no limit, we’ll just see how it goes.

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The Robin, a hibernating and burrowing bird, was rudely woken by the Dormouse who he was co-habiting with. Dormouse had farted, followed through and had left the nest as sticky as it was when they had first fallen asleep. His parents had said it would never work, the Dormouse’s said it was unnatural and immoral, what did they know? 

Robin had been signed off sick; Seasonal Affective Disorder; it was accepted that all Robins would be off their game until the colder, wetter weather came and the soil losened enough for the spade to break the loam, then Robin would have somewhere to perch, ready for the classic Christmas card pose; the last few years the card company had told him he needed more sleep, he looked disinterested and if he didn’t rest up he may lose the gig; people didn’t want to see an exhausted Robin.

As it was, today Robin emerged from the burrow, stretched his legs and had a piss, he had a B&H in his pocket which he took out and lit, inhaling deeply and exhaling reluctantly. The cigarette finished, he wiped the dried spit from his beak and shuffled back into his bed, rolling the dormouse into his own shit. He checked his alarm was turned off and closed his eyes.

Night night.

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