Yesterday I was sitting in the Botanic Gardens, enjoying the sunshine, when a pigeon crapped right on my head. Right on it. All over my lovely naturally sun-dried curls. And I didn't have any hankies or anything, so I had to try and claw it out of there using a Tesco bag. I don't know what that bird had been eating, but it was nasty.
So what is there to be glad about in this situation?
According to the rules of the game, I'm not allowed to say anything like 'one day that pigeon will be DEAD, and get its comeuppance in the circle of hell specially reserved for poultry with watery bowels.'
It needs to be more along the lines of 'according to a superstition made up by someone who clearly got pooed on a lot, birds doing their business on your head is meant to be good luck.' It's often associated with wealth, in fact. Therefore this incident must be indicative of the fact that I'm going to win the lottery next weekend.
I'll let you know.
In other news, I've decided to post audio snippets of Book 4 on 12 Books in 12 Months, if you are interested in having a listen.
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