Those clever crows see us for the birdbrains we really are
There's these birds singing away in the wood and the song they are singing has a familiar refrain. I'm sure most of you can't understand a single word of bird, but I can. There are those of you who can identify which bird is singing and will guess that it's a mating call, but do they know the lyrics? Well I do.
This is Wednesday before the Monday of today. I'm writing the column in advance of Writers' Week because I'll be too wrecked to write it on Sunday morning, which is the usual time for sending in the piece. I have written some truly horrendous articles on the Sunday after Listowel Races and Writers' Week. So for the first time ever, the piece is written in good time.
Deadlines are good for people like me. I'd put off collecting the Lotto if I won it. It's a disease, but then when a real emergency occurs the years of leaving everything to the last minute stand to me and I am easily the calmest man. Planners aren't great when the plans go astray. They have no practice at f***ing things up like I have. So there you have the clue as to what the birds are singing on this bright, beautiful morning.