Back again! Pretty sure last time I promised I'd be a little more frequent, or at least more consistent with my posts, but the fact is I've actually been rather busy. Yup, everything's coming up trumps for ol' Hazy Wazy Wizzly... woo... wudub. Hmmm. That was a blip, and I apologise profusely, but apart from that, yeah, it's all great. So instead of writing about what's happening in my head, I've been putting the things in my head on the outside of my head into other people's heads. But not so weird, or brain-washy. Man, Charlie Manson was nuts. Look his court stuff up on Youtube, seriously, it's not even anywhere near a case of misinterpretation or poor articulation of ideas on his part. It's legit crazy-town.
Anyway, not a lot of time to post because lots of good stuff happening. But it's not all rosy-cozy in Hazyville, oh no. Trouble's a-brewin', and it's threatening to drive me up, down, behind and through the wall. However, before we get into my issues, doc, some good old fashioned backstory is required.
Two or three or four, but definitely not five years ago, on a family holiday in Cornwall (or somewhere similar) we were driving back from the beach past one of those rolling green hills that folk singers sing about, except this hill had about thirty or forty magpie's on it.
For those of you keeping score at home, this is a magpie...
Sinister little bugger, isn't he?
Now, I had never seen that many magpie's all together in one place. That old nursery rhyme says something like "One for sorrow, two for joy/ Three for a girl, four for a boy..." etc. I don't know the full rhyme, so I don't know whether it goes as high as forty. But maybe that happens; birds of a feather flock together, right? What doesn't happen, I'm pretty sure, is that when you pass by the forty magpies on the hill, they suddenly take flight in your direction, AND FLY RIGHT OVER YOUR HEAD TWICE. I'll admit, I didn't take i as seriously at the time. The most I thought, with my writer's brain buzzing, was that this would make a pretty cool story. Little did I know, I'D BE LIVING DAT SHIT.
Fast forward a few months, the muchos muchos magpies incident is almost forgotten. On the way to school or sixth form (depending on how long ago it actually was) I see a couple of magpies on the grass. Bit unusual; don't usually see them around where I live, but then again they're birds, they can go where they want. As the saying goes, they are as free as themselves. Anyway, next day, I see them again, different places, trees, other patches of grass, whatever. Still didn't really register this properly. Happens again the next day. And all of next week, and the week after. They weren't there everyday, but they were there more often than not. This goes on for about four or five months. I didn't tell anyone, I don't think (what am I, crazy?), but inside I was starting to freak out a little. People don't just see magpies everyday of the week, and magpies don't just hang around a person.
And then it just stopped. Not just a reduction to the normal frequency of magpies, no more magpies full stop. Part of me is like "Yay! That brief, weird period in my life is over, never to return, never to be mentioned again!" Another part (the intelligent bit) said, "Well five months of magpies can't just be meaningless, a random occurrence of no significant consequence. You should probably at least look into it, or something." A smaller, less intelligent part said, "Kinda miss the magpies, guys. Just me?"
Anyway, long story short (too late), for the past two years, every five months or so, magpies show up. Sometimes one, sometimes two, but they're always there. And I am losing my mind, friends. So I decided to try and get to the bottom of it. Not much luck so far.
Maybe, if the nursery rhyme does go to forty, then forty is being stalked by magpies for the rest of your life. Maybe the magpie is my spirit animal, and they're actually here for my protection, although how two magpies are going to protect me when that angry griffin comes for his money I have no idea. Maybe its a Truman Show style deal, but I hope not, cause I don't know how to sail and frankly who has the budget for that kind of thing anymore? Maybe I'm cursed. Maybe when those magpies flew over my head they were casting a spell, a 'Fuck You, Strange Boy' spell, and now for the rest of my life I will be constantly confuzzled by ever-present magpies in my general vicinity. Or maybe my hair just has that natural glossy shine that you can only get from washing it in the Fountain of Good Will and Children's Tears. Who knows?
So there's my story. Seriously, its getting a little freaky, and I've seen The Birds, so I know the risks. By the way, Hitchcock; The Birds, what the hell was that? I'm not going into it now, but goddamn, Hitchcock. God. Damn.
By the way, just in case for some inexplicable reason you think I'm looney tunes, a magpie landed on the lawn outside my house the other day, looked at me, thats right, FUDGIN' LOOKED AT ME, then flew away, so explain that, doc.
As usual, leave a comment, share this around, make your feelings known and, as always, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.
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