Flying Rats

Dear Dobson,

It has been a while missus.  It's not been the best of times, hasn't been the worst either, but I feel I could be doing with a big dose of that stuff they call 'clarity'.  I imagine this is what it's like taking a shitload of valium every day - but without the comfort of knowing you're feeling this way because you ARE taking valium every day!

I can't remember the last time I had a full, uninterrupted night's sleep.  Every night I wake with a sensation approximating terror, feeling as if there is some kind of demon sitting on my chest suffocating me...  Freud would have a field day with this shit.

In addition to this I am waking early.  This is due to the tenants that have taken up residence on my window sill.  The flying rats of South East London seem to think my windows are more special than others in the neighbourhood.  I don't know what the allure is, perhaps it's my scent, but I wish they'd all fuck off.

A friend of mine who studied chemistry told me to put bicarbonate of soda out for them.  Apparently it makes the pigeons' stomachs swell and explode - then the vermin makes its way up to pigeon heaven.  I tried it and it seemed to work, it was as if they knew the dangerous properties of the white powder and avoided my window sill.  I think that initial dusting has now been blown away / erased by the weather and a re-application is needed.

I only saw one dead pigeon a few weeks ago.  I wondered whether I had become a pigeon killer...  In homage to the fuckers, I wrote a poem:

Ode to Pigeon

Pigeon with your pink blush, beady eye
Why is it you choose to torment on my windowsill?
Feathers rustling as the dawn is breaking
Cooing and wooing, brazenly mating
Your early morning antics don't endear you to me
And given you're vermin I should poison thee
Take this poem as a formal notice of eviction
Or I might be forced into taking drastic action...
*buys gun*

I know, I know.  It's as if Ted Hughes is still alive...

The whole pigeon debacle also reminded me of this:

His is better.  More succinct.  And anything in French or Belgian always sounds more meaningful, intelligent and profound.

I miss your musings.  Please rescue me from filling this space with mine.

Frankie