18 June 2013

3 the shatting



i hate, loathe, despise and abominate birds. this is a well known fact

yesterday, i was sitting in the park doing some work. i could've been on a nice wrought iron bench in the lushness of the victoria embankment gardens, but no. instead, due to time constraints and just plain laziness, i opted for a wooden bench in this concrete park plopped on top of the tube stop. 

fyi, if a park is entirely composed of concrete it's pretty safe to say it doubles as a bird bathroom. 

so this was, admittedly, a rather squalid scene. 

in retrospect, the unfolding of events seems quite obvious, but i was nonetheless taken aback at the time when, whilst i sat there industriously working away... A BIRD SHAT ON ME. 

i'm not even exaggerating. this wasn't like a bird shat near me. or beside me. or just beyond where i was. no, no. the bird shat on me. there was a gushing noise and then suddenly a heaviness in my hair and a white blob on my dress and, literally, a whole spray of shit across page two of version four of my jackie assignment. 

the good thing about being shat on? the day can only get better from there. 

3 comments:

oline said...

this week has been more chick-lit than usual, what with the bird shit and the vanilla bed...

Meggie said...

I'm sorry but I laughed. And then I laughed harder when I remembered we were talking in London about You Know Who getting shat on by a bird in high school.

mak said...

Now I'm really worried about you and those exploding sidewalks. It does seem like you may be in a bit of danger of falling victim to some random-yet-more-than-a-little-hilarious-in-its-tragedy means of death.