Someone at work just bounced back in from a trip to Lindisfarne with a robin's nest in a box. Of course, when I heard the words 'Robin's Nest' I was hoping for a diorama of our favourite Fulham-based bistro sitcom, complete with miniatures of a louche man about the house, his prissy wife and a one-armed washer-upper. And there'd be a curmudgeonly father-in-law banging on the door.
Sadly, however, this flight of whimsy came to an abrupt end because it was actually a real robin's nest. She found it and thought she'd bring it in for someone's son. I'm sure he'll be thrilled. I wonder if they asked her to do that? Anyhoo, she asked me to smell it, but I refused. It's actually repellent. And what, as someone asked, if the robin comes back?
I've never been to Lindsfarne, but I like their music.
7 comments:
Mead is the traditional souvenir to bring back from Lindisfarne. Bits of twig stuck together with bird spit, not so much.
It's quite scenic up that way, but apart from the risk of the tide coming in and stranding you on the island, it's a bit short of excitement.
But it always looks so peaceful, Kitten. I've longed to go. Perhaps I'll open a branch of Spindles there.
What's this nest made off of? Excrement?
On the whole, yes.
It could catch on - bringing poo into work with you. I might have a dig around my front garden. It's smothered in dog dirts thanks to that cancerous monstrosity upstairs's hounds.
Oh, hang on ... I work from home. That'd mean trailing his dogs' dirts into my own house. Erm ...
... yes. I'm willing to give that a go.
*goes off to fetch some dog dirts in*
Do let me know how you get on, BPP
Well I'm not doing that again.
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