Post by accipiter on Jun 23, 2020 21:23:19 GMT
Dear reader, as usual I’ve been reviewing the situation as to the great outdoors in relation to covid nineteen, and it’s no surprise that joggers seem to be on mass at the moment, especially Puffin Billy and Perfume Polly, so called because I can smell and hear them coming albeit two miles down the track. Coming through shouts Puffin Billy alias Methuselah looking all of his nine hundred and sixty-nine years followed by Perfumed Polly dressed as bright as a Christmas tree, to which I side stepped and ran into the adjacent field. As to why I ran into the field, the answer is simple Alan isn’t ready to "shuffle off this mortal coil" anytime soon with the dreaded virus after carefully analysing all the available data on covid nineteen.
As for where I’ve been, well on leaving the bubble (we’ll have no trouble in the bubble,) I headed for Flea Pit Lane passing Stinky Pete’s place where the Inn of a Thousand Delights once stood. From there I proceeded to Concrete Hill turned right down Linnets lane, turned right again at Cow Pat Corner, passed Paradise Lost, also (an extremely long impressive poem by John Milton,) took a short break in Sleepy Hollow before proceeding to Plum Pudding Hill where I avoided my fellow plebeians “I know my place.” From there I followed Chalk Lane passing Sharps Toffee Cottage, took a slide down Silver Hill and heading back home towards the bubble where we remain free from trouble; since we’ll have no trouble here. And yes I'm still taking the pills.
However, I digress; so Mrs Dunnock had three eggs the last time I looked. On Saturday she commenced brooding, meaning she could now be sitting on five. In the meantime, Mrs Blackbird has decided to relieve us of our rockery plants taken for nesting material whilst Mr Blackbird looks on, a shadow of his former self after playing his part in the reproductive process; that being three broods so far this year, phew what a hero.
Alan