With a little help from my virtual buddy Alexa, I’ve at last found a strategy which appears to partially counter my long-running and habitual sleep deprivation.
This aide au sommeil being, on my command, sexy Lexxy emitting a calming heavy rainfall soundscape within yours truly’s bed chamber. Sounds aimed at, and thus far effectively, negating my struggles at returning back to the Land of Nod.
An aural accompaniment which’s so far welcomely eased GJ Strachan back into slumber on the three occasions this plan of action’s been utilised.
Pleasingly, this is proving significantly more effective at returning me back to sleep than a previous strategy of counting sheep while endeavouring to fall back to kip……. Even more delightfully, I’ve now the boon of not having to shovel kilos of sheep s**t from my bedroom floor upon waking most mornings.
Heartwarmingly, upon hearing the descending rainwater’s resonance I’m ordinarily briskly led into consciousness suspension. One could say I fall asleep with the haste Cock Robin dropped ground ward in an 18th century rhyme; he becoming the unwitting victim of a bow and arrow wielding sparrow. A sad literary episode which initially portrayed the avian condition in a poor light.
The only saving grace for the deceased red-breasted bird was he enjoyed a dignified burial after the beetle made him a shroud. Not forgetting other magnanimous offers of support towards funeral plans from the owl, rook, linnet, thrush, hen et al.
If truth be told, I’m unsure why this blog’s topic has segued into a 1744 yarn surrounding robin aviancide. Perhaps the notion popped into my conscious mind as a metaphor of some sorts. Admittedly, I’m at a loss what the metaphor may refer to.
Perhaps I’m subconsciously attempting to advocate not all living creatures, especially birds, are despicable b*****ds…… Along with a message that while meandering aimlessly through life we should afford all creatures respect; avoiding prejudice or generalisation….. That being said, I’d never bloody trust snakes who are sneaky little buggers.
Anyhow, as this case still has to go to court, I’ll not dwell any further on the murder of Cock Robin. I’ve no desire to be found guilty of sub judice……. Nope, yours truly definitely doesn’t wanna be that person.
Right, back to the original subject of this prose prior to my meander back nearly 300 years to rabbit on about how evil sparrows can be – Particularly if they can get their hands, errrr…. I mean wings, on a bow and arrow.
Actually, I can’t leave the topic of robin aviancide without raising the question ‘Where the hell would a sparrow get archery equipment?’….. I’ve not ventured into Pets at Home much, but I’m pretty sure on the odd occasion I’ve patronised the retail outlet it was bereft of weaponry for use by avians.
That being said, perhaps the clue’s in the name of the store. The moniker Pets at Home indicates their wares are solely for the use of domesticated creatures. Consequently, as they’ll be fed by their owners, domestic birds have no need for weapons to eat and survive from predators – Ergo, the large pet shop’s no requirement to stock them.
Although, with that in mind, one could argue that the sparrow (allegedly – remember there’s been no court case yet) didn’t kill Cock Robin for food. If memory serves me correct, folklore dictates it as a motiveless act borne from jealousy fuelled by the robin always getting the front of Christmas card gig….. Although I may’ve dreamt that during my new found mega slumbers.
Right, definitely back to my original topic now…… Ermmmmm…… well, I just wanted to say, I’m sleeping better…… That’s all folks!
