Check for Pigeons

So the pigeons are back with a vengeance, trying to make a nest on the balcony. I don't think so. The amount of times I have to bang on the balcony door, I swear one time I'll go through it. I mean, granted, we've got a lot of crap on the balcony. It is a dumping ground for things we need to take to the big recycling - that could remain there for up to two years - old plant pots, the paint that we still need to finish the kitchen with, and all a tiny 1.5 by 2.5 metre space. So I get it pigeons, it's cosy. It has all these cool places to hide your nest away, and you'll feel safe with your little ones. But it's my bloody balcony. It's not a nesting ground and you're turning me into a paranoid person. With every sound I'm rushing to the window to shoo them away and sometimes they're not even there. But then other times they are proudly patrolling the small bit of clear walk space, like it's their territory. They are certainly getting cocky. Sitting on the railing, looking in, nosy little buggers. Ever get the feeling you're being watched? You probably are. Check for pigeons.

Does anybody else do the egg panic? When you've got four eggs left and the use by date is in two days, but you're really busy and don't think you'll have chance to use them? No? Anyone? But then you get home exhausted on a Wednesday after eight very full music classes, having pulled something in your shoulder, which makes up your mind that you definitely won't be going to Swing Dance. And then, your mind remembers those four eggs: I can bake things so I won't waste the eggs. No really, does anyone else do this? I ended up making a batch of cranberry and white chocolate cookies, most of which went in the freezer, for a rainy day, or a day when you just want to eat cookies. Either way. And I also made two small apple tea cakes. Again, both in the freezer until needed. Unfortunately, I then ran out of flour, butter and caster sugar and so one egg did go to waste, but at least I managed to use three of them. Ah, the good old egg panic.

So you may or may not know that I actually joined this modern technological century we're living in, granted several years behind times, but I'm there so stop complaining.  And I now own a smart phone. I'll wait a moment whilst you pick yourself up off the floor. I know, it's quite a shock. *Waiting*

Okay, are we all up now? Good. So his name is Gilbert and he's been mine about two months. It was tough to change over as I had issues with getting my PAC code, but he's officially mine - adopted from A of course, there's no way I could have afforded an iPhone. And we've already had a slight mishap. I dropped him last week during a long walk in Epping Forest, and despite his tough look, he crumbled like Madeira cake. Luckily, A knew of a fabulous place behind Goodge Street called Lovefone. They replaced the whole screen in about 10 minutes. Bish, bash, bosh. Job done. And Gilbert is renewed to his former self. I highly recommend these guys if you're in central London and in need of a phone repair. You can ring them or book online for a slot and they will fit you in when they can. All parts, except batteries, come with a life time warranty. https://www.lovefone.co.uk/ And they saved the day because I was absolutely gutted with a completely shattered screen, and then a few hours later, they fixed it. Thank you Lovefone.

Whilst writing this I have been beating the door to shoo away the pigeons. It is a constant barrage. But I will not be defeated. I will stand my ground. I was here first and the balcony is mine! (Well technically ours, I mean A lives here too, but for the purposes of this blog, mine sounds better.) I don't even want to leave for a run, as I'm convinced I'll come back and they'll have moved in with their extended family, maybe a few cousins and an elderly aunt or something. What exactly are the squatters' rights of pigeons? Or is this just me trying to get out of a training run?

Hmmmm, Definitely time to post this and get my ass off to Hampstead for a run. Thanks for reading.
Happy long weekend to you all.

Rants