I tried to photograph the newest duckies on the 'nal on my way into work today but the little fuckers kept moving, and I have neither the patience nor the skill to capture them for your amusement. They're very cute and fluffy though, and it tickles me that even the most determined pedestrian commuters slow down and coo at the sight of them. I'm none too fond of powerwalking cunts that wear special-needs MBT runners with their corporate clobber and scratch eyeballs out with golf brollies on wet days, but this may go some way to proving that they're human. It gives them something in common with the homeless folk who while away their days down by the water, drinking cans and tossing bread in to feed the fowl. I passed one guy last week who was sitting there in the sunshine, smoking a roll-up and drinking a tin of cider, greeting anyone who crossed his path and looking very happy with the world. He had the rest of the sixpack in a bag on a string, cooling in the water. Never before have I been jealous of a man with such a bad case of herpes and a strong odour of wee.
The moorhen on La Peniche II has also become a proud mammy this week. She stays obligingly still for photos but unfortunately she does so while sitting on her chicks (who apparently only see the light of day when their daddy comes in for the shift change) so I have nothing to show you. Take my word for it that they're cute - like little spraypainted ducklings. The batch of babba mallards down by Charlemont bridge have morphed into ducky teenagers - their adult plumage breaking through like a bumfluff 'tache, they're still found huddled together in a cosy, sleepy heap in the morning.
This post isn't really going anywhere. Sorry about that. I just like ducks, is all.
The moorhen on La Peniche II has also become a proud mammy this week. She stays obligingly still for photos but unfortunately she does so while sitting on her chicks (who apparently only see the light of day when their daddy comes in for the shift change) so I have nothing to show you. Take my word for it that they're cute - like little spraypainted ducklings. The batch of babba mallards down by Charlemont bridge have morphed into ducky teenagers - their adult plumage breaking through like a bumfluff 'tache, they're still found huddled together in a cosy, sleepy heap in the morning.
This post isn't really going anywhere. Sorry about that. I just like ducks, is all.
