Looking aimlessly through the lounge bay window my gaze is drawn to a brood of blackbirds perching on a garden fence. Not having to observe coronavirus social distancing protocols, or adorn the face coverings which’ve been a year long scourge of human existence, these feathered friends appear in chirpy spirits.

Currently, they appear to gaze back at me, maybe observing “I’m glad we’re not stuck in the house like Strachan, the flightless buffoon.” Although outside’s icy conditions contradict such notions, the black plumed folk’s brio possibly augmented by knowledge spring awaits around the corner.

I’ve never previously borne envy towards avians, unless you count late ventriloquist Rod Hull’s buddy Emu, who seemingly got away with assaulting people without consequence. However, as the confrontational hand puppet is….. erm….well….. a puppet, I’d be surprised if the jury found in my favour when deliberating whether Emmers sits under the avian umbrella.

Anyhow, witnessing these blackbirds twittering in large groups, unimpacted by a pathogen raging havoc on none flying ‘chums’ whose heads they’re fond of pooping upon, made me covet being once again afforded similar liberties as my yellow beaked buddies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve no aspirations of becoming one of our feathered friends. The daily jeopardy of being eaten by a cat means life as an avian’s a desire which’s unlikely to Segway onto my bucket list anytime soon.

Despite mankind possessing many flaws, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll remain a human being. A decision reached due to significantly less chance of meeting tigers, or lions, than domestic cats whilst wandering West Yorkshire’s streets.

I’d like to clarify at this juncture, when it comes to possessions GJ Strachan isn’t a jealous man. I bear no ill will to anyone, particularly those with devices, clothes or other trinkets whose quality usurps my chattels.

Like diminutive jockey and frog whisperer Frankie Dettori, I’d proffer life’s a commodity that’s too short to be envious. I’d suggest with a fair degree of certainty that no gadget can bequeath endless fulfilment….. Well, unless the orgasmatron depicted in Woody Allen’s 1973 movie ‘Sleeper’ is actually a thing.

That being said, I deem any species afforded the freedoms they’ve always enjoyed despite of COVID’s unwanted stench are serendipitous. Sadly, confronted by a whole new set of existential circumstances, mankind has been thrown a curveball which for many strikes out both mentally and physically.

The human race is now confronted by a dearth of major lifestyle adjustments, necessitating enforced need to adapt. Unwanted disruption akin to that animal and insect kingdoms undertake after humans defile their natural habitats in the name of fiscal growth.

I’d subjectively venture, changes they embrace with more stoicism than deprivation of comfort zone does for sections of my species. The stark fact for both is failure to adapt to these major lifestyle changes could potentially resulting in demise.

Anyhow, witnessing this seemingly upbeat behaviour of noir plumaged avians I hark back to the emotive words once warbled by Barbra Streisand:-

Blackbirds, 
Blackbirds who have freedom, 
Are the luckiest blackbirds in the world
……
” 

Oh ok, I admit it; the New York born diva’s lyrics were actually:-

People; 
People who need people;
Are the luckiest people in the world…….

However, I sure you know what I mean……. And if you do, can you let me know as I’ve not a chuffing clue why I added the two snippets of lyrics above.

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