Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a ******* big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of ******* fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the **** you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing ******* junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, ****** up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would we want to do a thing like that? We chose not to choose life. We chose somethin' else... the intensive study of wild birds in their natural environment.
At lunchtime I went for a wander round Rosemount to get me a slice of the Bohemian Waxwing action... but all I got for my pain was a single fly-by, which didn't lend itself to intensive study. They were all down near King's apparently.
Ach, who am I kidding?? No one wants to hear about what I did. You're either looking to see if I said something coherent about IBWOs for a change or let's face it, you want another page of the ex-Miss Lawson's birding experiences as taken from her personal diary. I really am dead next time she checks what I've been writing.
We never did get a painting. Still waiting to clear my overdraft.
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