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. 


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.