We have a blackbird in our garden that will not shut the fuck up! I feel bad mentioning it, because it’s nature and it’s natural and naturally I normally like nature, but it’s really getting on my fecking tits! I work some evenings, so when I have a night at home, it is like a treat. You know when someone says to you: go on – take tonight off and you think, yeah, I bloody well will and I’ll pour myself a glass of wine, because this feels like a treat and I’m going to bloody well milk it…and that’s exactly the time that the blackbird kicks in. It doesn’t even rev up – it just launches straight in with some sort of screech that makes it sound as if it’s being strangled. The first time it happened, I shouted upstairs to daughter 4, asking her what that bloody racquet was. She came down to investigate and that was when we discovered the bird. Since then, said bird has visited our fence like sodding clockwork. We’ve got 2 dogs and 2 cats for fecks sake – piss off to a garden that only has rabbits.
That blackbird got me thinking about Terry Nutkins and how, when he died, no-one seemed to bat an eyelid. Then, out of the blue this week, social media made out that he’d died again! Terry bloody Nutkins! If it wasn’t for him, I would have literally killed that bird. Everyone getting het up about Prince dying – another rock star who topped himself, probably so that he didn’t have to go through the humiliation of looking really shit in old age. Meanwhile, Terry Nutkins, who always looked shit, died and then four years later, he died again – probably thinking about animals and screeching birds on both occasions.
Well Terry, every time that bird sits on my bloody fence, I’m going to raise a glass to you: you were the legend, Terry! Not many people die twice! Move over Prince, with a name like: Terry Nutkins, you were only ever destined for great things. With a name like: Prince, there is only one way to go.