No More Bikinis?????

Very interesting article in the local papers this morning.   Apparently the “fundies” are planning to ban women’s swim suits.  What does that mean?  Women will have to wear mens’ swim suits? Women may bathe nude?  Women will be banned?  Does that mean I will have to take my feathers off as I swim in my feathers?   Oooh these fundies are such a nuisance aren’t they? I wonder what kind of people these fundies are when they spend parliamentary time discussing womens’ swim suits.  And they get paid for it.  Honestly, these fundies.

Oh well, back to my perch.  Sometimes I just get depressed and annoyed reading the local papers. It’s all bad news and bad decisions by fundies.  The fundies are hijacking the country.

Weekend Sunset Reverie

There was quite a bit of activity around the school across the road yesterday evening.  Cars turning up, disrupting my sunset reverie, people talking in loud voices, disrupting my sunset reverie, children calling to one another, disrupting my sunset reverie.  In short, my daily sunset reverie was totally disrupted.  I decided to follow the crowd and found that they were heading down into the theatre they call the Mousetrap Theatre.  I decided I'd join them, discreetly and quietly.  As it turned out, I was glad that I did as the music was excellent but the highlight of the evening was when a cockroach climbed up the leg of one of the girls in the audience then headed down the front of the theatre and walked along at the foot of the stage.  There was a lot of murmuring and scuffling but I was quite impressed that the girl in question managed to keep her composure and not scream.  Most people would have run out in panic.  As for me, I dscreetly gobbled the little culprit when no one was looking.  Tasty little morsel too and don't ask me if pigeons eat such things. I do. So there.

And this morning? Well the hot topic of conversation is that wicked 'whistle blower website.'  Again.  And apparently the Americans are running around in a panic as they are going to be embarrassed by all sorts of revelations about them double dealing with different countries, among other things.  Why's everybody so surprised?  I wasn't.  Well that's what I think and I only have a hundred brain cells don't forget and most of them are making up for last night's loss of sunset reverie.  

Fat??!!??

Armadilla came over for a visit from Dabbiedabie and Hairy Kery went to fetch her .  Upon meeting her he remarked that she had gained weight and that she should watch it.   Some  people have absolutely no tact.   Armadilla told him that "he was no oil painting himself" and when we got together later on to discuss this, we decided that he was the ''Definition of a Wrinkle" what with his mangled face and 6 hairs on top of his head.   This is a cultural thing though isn't it?   British people greet themselves with "Oh you're looking good'' or "Life must be treating you nicely for you to look the way you do."    In this part of the world it's "Hello, how are you, my my haven't we got fat!" or "Hello, how are you, you're looking decidedly older than when I last saw you, you're hair is thinning, you've got a few extra wrinkles and you shirt's a bit tight"   Cultural differences!   Will we ever understand each other.

We spent the evening in sampling my latest "Orange" product and Armadilla had to run off to bed the effect was so immediate

Thanksgiving

Apparently, in the Government’s plan for the country, the are 700 Obstacles. They haven’t bothered to tell us what those obstacles are and why there are specifically 700 I have no clue. But I think I can guess what the obstacles might be. MP Number 1, MP Number 2, MP Number 3.......MP Number 50, Minister Number 1.........., Undersecretary Number 1....................Bureaucrat Number 1 and so on.  Need I say more?
Personally, I don’t think you could do any better than to put a pigeon in charge.  I, for example, am gifted with brains (doctor told me I have 100 brain cells and I think that’s a record and certainly more than most MPs have, they are in the range of 5 to 10 Brain cells), looks (take a look at  my pics and I know I am modest but ‘I ain’t half bad’, energy (constantly reconnoitering in Jabriya), connections (I know practically all the feathered inhabitants of the area and the list just goes on.
By the way, it is Thanksgiving Day today so congratulations to all Americans and Canadians ( I think the Canadians have already had theirs).  I think I will have a special Thanksgiving Dinner tonight and let me see, what shall we have for dinner.  People usually have, wait for it, TURKEY and I am definitely not going to have one of my distant cousins. I might invite them around to join in the celebrations, but not to eat them. Shiver shiver......ugh.
What is Thanksgiving Day?  Well, according to my sources, it is a day in which Americans and Canadians thank the Lord for what  He has given them and I think Thanksgiving started way back in the 17th Century when the first pilgrims had reaped a successful harvest and wanted to show their appreciation to God.
I think we should all join them and thank the Lord for OUR blessings.  Me for my good looks, you for whatever you think you have been fortunate with.

I do have one little question though, what do unfortunate people do on Thanksgiving Day?  Make a complaint? Shout and Scream about their misfortune?  Can I please have an explanation? Or do they have to wait for the possibility that, next year, things might be better. Oh I don’t know.

SPAM??!!? ME??

Went to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows yesterday and, yes, yes, you want to know what I think. Well, coo coo coo coo coo coo. That means that the best thing about the film was the shadow story within the film, the Tale of the Three Brothers. I enjoyed that. And then, it was nice to see that Gollum is getting starring roles in other films besides the Lord of the Rings; he managed quite a significant role in Harry Potter. I wonder if he’ll get into one of the Mission Impossible one’s in future. That’s what I thought of Harry Potter.

Oh, another thing, I received an email from a blog follower (SHE shall remain unnamed) who sent a threatening email telling me that she would report me as spam. SPAM! Me, I have never been near a luncheon meat tin in my life! So what on earth she is on about I have no idea.

Finally, I was in the corner of my perch yesterday, cleaning out loo number two, when this car raced by and the occupants shouted out “POO EATER!” in a very aggressive manner. That is so rude. I don’t eat poo! I was cleaning the corner and yes, inadvertently a little bit might have got into my beak, but actually making a meal of it? Never! I’ll have to give up cleaning in future.

Oh well, on to another day.

(Oh, some news, Armadilla is coming to stay this week and she will be my guest. She won't actually stay on my perch but not too far from that. I wonder if she can help me clean my flat out?)

Humpppphhhhhh. . . . ..

Humph, I’m a little miffed this morning as someone left a comment about me and driving, suggesting that I, Miss Pigeon Mundy, Feathered Driver Extraordinaire, am ignorant when it comes to driving. Humph indeed.

I will have you know that I have done rallies, test runs for the Paris to Dakar, taken part in the Formula 1 races, done the Monte Carlo one, been a participant in the Ferrari rallies in Italy, and many more besides.  I have personally supervised several test runs on the Great Salt Lake and also worked with Jackie Stewart and helped Evil Knievel perfect his skills.  And those were all such vividly technicolour dreams.  So, Mr or Mrs or Miss Anonymous, I would watch what you say in future. COO COO COO!

I’ve nothing much else to say this morning except that I hear the new Harry Potter film is out.  I plan to see that and contribute my bit to the Rowland coffers.  I don’t mind contributing to those coffers but it would be nice to see JK Rowland contribute a little bit more of her gigantic fortune to helping the world’s less fortunate.  The Gates’ are major philanthropists and the rest of the world’s billionaires would do well to follow their example including some of the billionaires here in the Gulf.  As for me, I'm always willing to do my bit.

It's Called EAP GULF

Granny Jehanella just came to see me as I was sitting with Rowella discussing new modes of transport (more about that later in the week) and granny Jehanella was a bit cross as she had read an article about the never ending feud between the Arab side and the Iranian side of the gulf and the never ending dispute about what the frigging GULF should be called. The Iranians want it to be the Persian Gulf and the Arabs the Arabian Gulf.

If you ask me, they are all a bunch of ignoramuses (or ignoranuses as Rowella likes to say) as everybody know that it’s Called the:

“Effing Arabo-Persian Gulf – Whateverrrrrr”

(or EAP Gulf for short)

So there! But knowing all that lot they would then be squabbling about which side takes priority so they would want it to be the “Effing Perso-Arabian Gulf”.

It’s all these men with their mini testes and mini willies who cause all these problems. Who the eff cares what the gulf is called. As Rowella says, just give us the zubaidi and the rubyan (that’s Pomfret fish and Prawns for those of you who aren't from here.)

Of course the Gulf is not the only disputed territory in the world, there are many such disputes between equally miniscule membered politicians in the world. There are disputes between China and India, China and Japan and the list goes on and on and on.

Granny Jehannella claims that her father and his friends and their families would stand in a line and compare wilies. I wonder what country THEY lived in? I think Granny Jehanella has gone a bit bonkers if you ask me.

Actually, if you put me in charge, I would immediately call it the Pretty Pigeon Gulf.

AND I SAY: PUT PIGEONS IN CHARGE. Pigeons rule!

Back from Delhi

We went to New Delhi, for a party actually and phew, it seems such a long time and really, this holiday has been very long . 9 days with no banks or government offices. I wonder how the banks can afford to close for such a long time. And the government. What on earth do they ever do? How do they run a country when they're on holiday all the time.
For me of course it's all right. All I ever do is sit on my perch in front of the school which of course was on half term holiday. I don't feel guilty. But the government!!!!! What a load of plonkers.
We went to a party in Delhi, a silver wedding anniversay, held by some feathered friends. Why was the party in Delhi you are asking? Well, our feathered friend had some Indian connections in the past, the family used to live there, hence party time in delhi.  I admit that before I left for Delhi (on Pigeon express) I was a bit worried about going as I thought their airport might  have million mile long queues but their airport is a thousand times better than the shack back home . 

India was great although we were walled off from the less pleasant bits like beggars and reality. On the first day, we went out and decided to walk to a shopping area near the hotel called Connaught Place (old British) and we were assaulted by an army of beggars, touts and taxi drivers. One beggar, who hobbled up to me and asked for money. I said politely that I didn't have any and he shouted "GET LOST" at me. I was so surprised that I found it funny and didn't get angry. (I know you might have read this in a previous entry but I'm narrating it again just in case you liked it first time). Coo Coo.The party was really nice and there were around 200 people there most from home but others from around the world.  There were birds from California, fowl from Japan, feathered toffs from Canada and so on. The first night was a kuwaiti night with kuwaitis singers and we danced until 2 am. I discovered I was a good dancer (but only after three red you know what's) and apparently I was quite a star, boogying the night away. Dancing samri and nagazi. Aren't I clever!
The second and third nights were Indian, with a Rajashtani troupe and again, we danced until the early hours. There were breakfasts, lunches, brunches and dinners and it was beautifully organised. Again, I danced nonstop and where on earth I learnt how to dance Indian dances and bollywood dances I don't know. But I did, non stop. And isn't it funny how friendly you get with people after 8 red you know what's? Everyone lost all their inhibitions and the adrenalin was running high, people were friendly and chummy. Coo coo coo.
After that, we went back to Delhi and our Kashmiri friend , a mountain breed, took us around to various places. We went to a few nice eating places, off the streets of course, too much to worry about on the streets, we also met up with some of our kuwaiti friends and had pleasant evenings outdoors.
Honestly I have become a party animal. Must be mid life crisis. That's why I'm energetic and doing all sorts of things.. I don't care, I can have a mid life crisis. But I won't grow a pony tail and dress like a 20 year old.

Can you believe, when I got back home I thought the driving was GOOD! Compared to India it was good. Honestly, the driving there is chaotic. Here they drive too fast but at least they basically know what lanes are. That was funny.


Back to the perch this morning and it feels like we've been away for the summer.

 

Nice to be in India.  We decided then to walk to Connaught place and the minute we stepped out of the hotel we were assaulted by a barrage of touts, beggars and swindlers. Hordes of young men claiming to be students who didn't want anything but to help us and cursing all the other touts.  We believed the first one and were led into a  backstreet.  We managed to work our way back to the square where there was such a crowd of touts and beggars that we froze.  One beggar with one arm told us to get lost when we didn't give him anything.  In the end we decided to take a put put and have a tour for 300 Rs. 

Fascinating at the Sikh temple with all sorts of religious types, beggars and visitors.

 

In the hotel cafe we asked what fresh juices there were and they said melon and sweet lime.  We asked for lime and they brought orange.  We told them we wanted lime and they said it was finished so we asked for melon.  Then we saw a woman being served lime so we asked why?  They said that was lime with soda and we'd asked for sweet lime.  We gave up.

I need a little R&R as my feathers have been a little ruffled of late so I am catching Pigeon Express to Delhi. There's a big party there and I've decided to go.  Each night has a theme and I have packed my bags.  I am prepared to dress to the nines.

The airport was heaving with people. I thought it would be quiet as the public holiday isn't till the end of the week.

My feathers got more ruffled when I had to rub shoulders with the rabble (heaps of them) but I did bump into a few nice acquaintances at check in. It seems everyone is going to this party in Delhi.
More later!

Desert Camping Season

I, as a concerned citizen, have a complaint :  The desert is deteriorating because disorganised rabble are camping like savages all over the place.  I kindly request that you please, Mr Fatso, very kindly, nicely said, get off your huge fat ass (must be pimply and full of bu-zlaiqa) and so do something about this.

We know you have tried to diet and so you are just half a hippo and good for you because half a hippo is better than a full hippo (bet your wife doesn't agree as even half a hippo is a bit much) and that maybe being on a diet has distracted you ( hippos are usually distracted) but please do something.

We know that you are  really wrinkly and that you need a MEGA facelift and bumlift and that we can't see your features because they are dangling, and your bum reaches below the back of your knees, but please, do something.  PLEASE PLEASE.  The wrinkles might vanish.

fat, oversized, beautiful?

Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep.  That’s how I feel this morning.  And I think it must be because it’s the weekend!   Yipppeeeeeeee and COO! COO!

I went food hunting yesterday evening.  Down by Lulu. Me, Nutella and Rowella.  We are all planning to watch our weight as we have cellulite on our thighs and there are dimples on our butts.  We are following a points system so for example, a grain of rice is a point, a grain of wheat is a point, a MacDonalds grain is 100 points and so on.  I am allowed 20 points a day. Too bad yesterday I had 100.  I must get a grip and try to control myself.  I shall study the points while I am relaxing over the weekend.

Why is life so cruel? Why wasn’t I born Polynesian because in Polynesia, big is beautiful and the bigger my butt the more attractive I am.  Apparently the biggest woman on the island is the one chosen to be queen.  I read that somewhere so it must be true.  I am sure I could do quite well in a competition like that. . I hear Mauretania is the same although to be honest, I don’t think I fancy living there.  Give me Tahiti any day.

Winter?

Winter - the rain - coming at last?????  When?  Must fluff the feathers up myself!  Dont have a ppppppppppino to preen, groom me and clean my poops - all gone off with their laptops. . . . . . .

I am sick to death of this place.  I am sick of the flipping politicians, of the dirty streets, of the shabbiness of the streets (it is the shabbiest country in the Gulf).  Don’t these MP’s ever travel to Abu Dhabi? Dubai? Doha? Muscat?  Can’t they see how attractive those cities are?  Can’t they see all the dead trees in Kuwait?  All the crumbling buildings?  The trash? It seems all you have to do is secure a contract to plant a million trees, earn tons of money, and then forget them. There is no maintenance, either for the trees or the city.  I AM SICK OF THIS PLACE. And all the horrible rabble that have hijacked  the country, the rabble who  park rolls royces in front of their corrugated iron shacks!!!!  I am emigrating to France. To the Dordogne. The DOR-DOG-NI!!!!!!  And don’t say I didn’t tell you.

Ole Pigeon

The ‘Ole Pigeon’ is a real hypochondriac. “This hurts, that hurts, this is sore, that is sore, I can’t see properly, my chest is heavy, my legs are not right, my shoulder is stiff, haven’t been to the loo for a week.”  Arrrggghhhhhhhh! I’ve had enough of listening to that.  To the ‘Ole Pigeon’ everything is doom and gloom,  and misery.  I think the ‘Old Pigeon’ needs a therapist.  No, better, I think the Old Pigeon needs to go on the Oprah show and have a good old bawl on TV in front of a billion people.  Then everyone can sympathise, write and call in and tell the ‘Old Pigeon’ that he is a handsome young sprightly thing that doesn’t need to worry. More tomorrow.. . . . . .