Seems we’re doomed to be spotting pigeons, and no, that’s not a youth-a-mism this time. Lookit!
What do you mean, you can’t see it? Alright, alright, don’t shout. Try this instead:
Now what am I supposed to do? Not worried about the satellite dish, it’s not in use (previous occupants couldn’t be arsed to remove it). Things is, the nest is right over the patio and T is worried about being shat on (in spite of all my protests to the contrary - it would require sitting in a very awkward position).
I’m all for leaving it in situ, the Mummy Pigeon is clearly sitting on eggsies and well, it’s just not cricket. Or Karma. But they are mucky disease-ridden blighters.
Tammy would quite like me to accidentally knock the nest off with the pressure washer that I might borrow from work, ostensibly to clean the patio.
What, dear reader, would you do?
‹starts saving up for shot-gun›
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