He is back.
That grotesque, diseased little pustule has returned into my life, and I am not happy about it. No.
The little hedgepig (see pre-Christmas 2006 entries for more details about the wretched scrote-sac) was heard and then sighted in my garden last night, having dragged his idle self out of his hibernation. I knew it was the same toe-rag as before because he headed straight for his food-station (where my partner had been leaving my leftovers for the birds - not for him.) and because he started snickering as soon as he saw me. AND he was still fat - he didn't even have the decency to appear hollow and emaciated and close to death. The git.
"Morning!" he said, despite the fact that it was close to midnight. "Sleep well during your hibernation? I certainly did!" I would not dignify his remark with a response. He gobbled down some food and then squeezed his oversized ar*e under my gate. "Right!" he squeaked cheerily "I'm off to have me some sex." Contemptible little rat. It is now only a question of time before I usher him into a period of hibernation, from which he will never awaken.
I saw my new buzzard-friend this evening at Abbotstone, and greeted him politely.
"Are you still 20kg?" he asked. "Yes." I replied "And it's all muscle, no fat." The buzzard just stared down from his branch.
"And your meat, is it..."
"Flesh," I corrected him.
"Of course, silly me. Do forgive. Have you ever been in an accident, young man? Is your meat bruised or tainted in any way?" I explained about my unfortunate accident in the quarry (as described in an early blog entry), but said that I'd landed on my partner, so I remained unharmed. "That's good to hear." said the buzzard. What a nice young man! "Do be sure to tell me if you lose any weight." And, with that, he lifted from the branch and soared away. It was an odd conversation, to be sure. Why is he so concerned with my weight? I am the correct weight for my age and have not an ounce of unnecessary fat upon my person. From his words, I can only draw two conclusions:
1) he is an agent for Slimming World;
2) he works for one of those ghastly, intrusive, gutter-magazines, like Heat or OK!, which are obsessed with the diets of celebrities.
Either way, it is none of his beaky business.