Birds flying home

A comment on the title: I just saw a couple grey tailed birds (unsure of their name) fly into this square hole (holes are usually round aren’t they…I wonder if it’s square whether it counts as a hole?) on the other side of the river/canal. I’m guessing that’s where their nest is.


The days are so empty. When I was walking back to my flat today I met a couple of my flat mates and as I left them to their walk I began characterizing the members of my flat to a story. I even began composing in my head but unfortunately I’ve forgotten a lot of it. I was going to write it down once I got back but there were four people in the kitchen and in my excitement I forgot about the story. Besides, if I eventually turn it into a story then I might face some copyright issues, but to hell with it. Here’s as much as I can remember (BTW the below story is fictional and is in no way representative of any real life people):

The lady of the house wears black kohl around her eyes, creating the most fierce and haughty stare I’ve ever seen. She dons naturally curly hair and a simple jumper over grey leggings. Her mannerisms are simple but complicated, and though she never explicitly gives commands she is held at the highest respect.The lady of the house does not have a man. Instead there is the loveable butler, but not so much butler as confidant. He cleans and fixes things. The man of many trades but master of none. He is tall and skinny, a physique any fit man would regret not having and his pale blue eyes are kind with the cleverness of a fox. The child, not of the lady but from his disposition, is tall and wears trousers that fall around his knees so he is crossed and waddles like the kin of a penguin. On the kitchen counter lay his belongings, cooked food long forgotten and rotting, dishes piling up into crusted pasta sauce. Eventually the confidant raises his hand and takes the sponge to them. This child parties until he does not know up from down but every night he manages to make it home. He never leaves for education. The quiet one remains in his room and can only be seen in the morning eating a bowl of puffs, staring out the window, wondering about the temperature and the weather. Then there’s me, the final inhabitant of the abode. I am the stranger, the person who has come into their life and shaken things up but barely created a dent. They are kind and feed me and introduce me to their ways. I am still learning.

There it is. It turned out differently from how it started. I’m probably not going to go anywhere with it. When I get a more regular schedule I plan on leaving and going to cafe’s and writing, reading, exploring the hell out of the UK and Europe.


1 Response to “Birds flying home”

  1. 1 Ken January 27, 2012 at 10:35 pm

    Round bird in a square hole? Sounds like an interesting conundrum, (if not a bit Freudian). I’m sure that whatever shape hole you find yourself roosting in, no matter what continent, the inhabitants will make you feel at home in it! Relax, spread your wings, have fun and KEEP WRITING! :-)

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