Merry Xmas!!!

I'm imagining skiing in the alps so nobody need bother nagging me about my very interesting diary. I am having a quiet peaceful Xmas!!!   By the way, Merry Christmas to you all. And Happy New Year of course.   See you in the new year.

Gala?????

I went to the queen’s ‘Gala’ dinner last night.  I just flew into the Diamond Ballroom in the Sheraton and perched myself on the huge crystal chandelier, right above the Queen’s table (practising my aim).  Gala Dinner?  Alright, I enjoyed myself, but what a shambles.  We were all waiting expectantly for her to arrive and when she did, it sort of went pffrrrrrttttttt: it was lame.   It was limp and that was mainly because she was surrounded by a squadron of photographers who should have been barred from entry into the ballroom and as a result, no one could see her.  I dropped a ‘souvenir’ on the Shaya plate to show my displeasure.  There was a bit of bustle and confusion next and after a video presentation, the queen gave a speech.  I must say, the queen was very beautiful and elegant.  To show my pleasure, I dropped a souvenir into the bowl of pesto on the main table.

The next best thing about the evening was the violinist who played very jazzed up 1970s Arabic classics.  He was very skilled and played with passion.  His accompanists were good too.

But the housewives, the housewives.   First of all, the housewives (no offence meant to housewives, I am using the term as a euphemism for ‘nothing better to do airheads’) the housewives,.   One of the housewives looked like she had done herself up like a little girl with curly locks falling to her shoulder (so I left a little souvenir on one of her locks), another housewife looked like a herpes blister (so I left a souvenir on her shouder) and yet another hovered around the ballroom aimlessly, trying to keep herself as close to the queen as possible (I tried to leave her a souvenir but she flitted around too fast).

The audience/guests seemed quite nice although one or two of them stood out.   For example, there were the Q sisters who haven’t changed their ‘look’ for the past 25 years and are starting to look a bit dusty and frayed around the edges.   One of them has her hair tied very tightly back from her face, just as she has done for 25 years but whereas in the past, it was the fashion, she probably does it now to keep her skin wrinkle free.   Then there was the table of the housewives’ best friends who were positioned strategically and who were all similarly caked with make-up that seemed to crack under the spotlights (I gave them a few souvenirs to help them fill in the cracks) .   What a bunch of miseries they were.   They kept ordering the waiters around with waves of the hand, looking self important and quite dragon like, you know, like old dowagers although they weren’t old enough to be dowagers; stern faces and stiff postures.   I’m sure not one of them actually paid for their table but were placed there as a favour by the housewives.

There was an auction and Queenie left in the middle of the auction which prompted over 80% of the guests to get up and leave resulting in an auction in the second half that had no people!

To sum up: a flop but I had fun being a bitch.

I feel sick. . . . .

I must be coming down with something.  This morning I looked like something the cat dragged in and I feel like something the cat dragged in.  Luckily, there isn’t a cat in the neighbourhood that has managed to get its claws around me.  In fact, I have managed to get MY claws around many a pretty pussy in my time.  There’s the black tomcat who lives in Street 5. Have I had some fun with him!  He often sits in the garden there, sunning himself, and I allow myself to literally drop from the sky, catapulting onto him, causing him to squeal in the most entertaining fashion and to leap 3 feet into the air in fright while I fly away calmly and laugh at him from a distant tree.  Leaping Tom I call him.

Then there’s the ginger cat with five kittens in Street 1 and they are a delight to chase as they scurry in all directions, mother cat hissing lamely as I dart around, quick as lightening, pecking the little ‘rats’ lightly on their backs.  Oh what a laugh, what memories.  I feel better already.  This weather today not such a laugh though - makes my sores sorer. . . .

Pimples, piles, lenses

I woke up this morning with a pimple/sore on my lip, a gum boil in my mouth and I am going to a party tomorrow night.  What am I going to do?  Nutella said she could put concealer on for me.  On my beak? I don’t think so, I’d look like a pelican or a flamingo or some other mega-beaked creature. No, I shall just ignore it and hope it goes away before tomorrow.

I’m also in a bit of a touchy mood as Nutella across the road has been aiming a massive camera with a massive lense in my direction. What ever next?  Is one not allowed the smallest amount of privacy whatsoever.  Ok, celebrity status does have its drawbacks but I feel like I’m on big brother or something.  I’m photographed in the loo, sleeping, eating, grooming, falling off the perch. Everything. The only time I am not photographed is when I am not at home.  You saw the picture of me with my crown, my “pile” and everything else.  I can’t even concentrate on politics with that lens in my face. And there are all sorts of interesting things going on. The political excitements and political ‘fisticuffs’ in Kuwait.  The Wikileaks crisis (I’m finding is more and more difficult to decide which side of the fence I am on regarding that issue), the endless bombs in Iraq, the attack in Sweden, the destructive weather in the levant (which has jsut arrived here; the winds have blown up, it’s got dusty and the temperature has dropped a few degrees).

Tonight there is a Christmas dinner party across the road.  The staff dinner.  I shall be heading to that.  I shall be very interested to see who turns up.  I always enjoy being there, getting bits of pud and mince pie.  I don’t fancy the turkey though, too close to home for my liking, not that the occasional pigeon hasn’t been seen displaying the odd cannibalistic trait. The night after that there is an even bigger party and guess what?  There’s going to be a queen there and as I have a crown, you’ve all seen it, I shall be in attendance.

Feathers and all

I was sitting with my old feathered mama yesterday and she asked about an acquaintance of ours.  I said that the acquaintance was away looking after her elderly parents.  Feathered mama instructed me to deal with her properly when she got to that state of disability.  I informed her that I would stick her in a boat and push her out to sea.

I expect to be pushed out to sea myself.  I  Don’t want to be hanging around depending on others for everything. . Can’t someone beam me up to space or something.  After that, I would like to be set in plastic and put on public view.  Feathered of course. Or should I say ‘not feathered?’ Oh I don’t know.  With feathers on!

I was flying around last night and noticed litter absolutely everywhere. Discarded tissues, polystyrene cups, bags, juice packets.  ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING.  And guess where it has all come from? Religious people throwing their rubbish …. Oh gosh, must fly. Will continue tomorrow.....

Pantos, Weddings . . . .

Oh my gosh and coo coo! I completely forgot to tell you about the panto and about all the other things that have happened recently.  Well, the panto. Babes in the Wood. We went to the Kuwait Little Theatre which is in an old Nissen Hut in Ahmadi, and the atmosphere was very nice with people milling around, enjoying the cool evening air.

The Panto was good.  The best character of course was Pepper, a huge, noisy and flamboyant woman played by a man who squawked all through the play.  The audience was good and the children involved themselves throughout.  I do like pantos. They have a special ‘feel’ to them.

The big news last week was the Royal Wedding in England next year.  That is definitely something I am going to avoid even though we feathered creatures are always invited to such events, privileged as we are.  I don’t think I could cope with the crowds there, the feathered crowds as well as the revolting bare skinned one.  I would love to contribute to the good luck ‘droppings’ on the couple but it would be quite a fight, even for me.  Oh these royal weddings (and even run-of-the-mill royal visits) are so funny and they bring out the strangest behaviour in people.  I remember, many years ago, when the queen of England visited Kuwait, the British Embassy hosted a reception and several people who weren’t invited left the country on ‘urgent business’ as they couldn’t bear to admit that they had been left out of the guest list.  Oh what a hoot.  Shall I tell you who those people are? No, I shouldn’t be mean, let them get on with their fantasy ‘wannabee’ lives.

Of course, I, Miss Mundy Pigeon ‘Past Compare’ have an open invitation to all these events so I don’t get my knickers in a twist about such things.  Not that I wear knickers.  Oh I’m so special I can’t believe it.  How fortunate to be me.

Now, more’s to the point, did you hear about the rare copy of John James Audubon's Birds of America book, the world's most expensive book, being sold for more than £7m at auction.  Well I should think so too, it’s beautiful and why wouldn’t a book of feathered creatures be the most expensive book in the world?  The illustrations are exquisite and apparently it took the artist 12 years to  complete.  There is such attention to detail and the colours are wonderful. If I had the lolly, I would have bid for it and if I’d won, I would have put it on my perch and stared at the pictures all day.  The purchaser was anonymous. Hmmmm......aaaaaaah............finger tap finger tap.

Panto season

This morning I dragged myself out of bed and hobbled to the loo where I noticed that the ‘pile’ was exceptionally high; I hadn’t noticed.  It is getting quite mountainous and I think I might need to get myself some professional climbing equipment in order ‘to go’.

There’s nothing much in the newspapers except the usual doom and gloom news about economies collapsing around the world, the mess left by the wikileaks revelations, the threat of the Iranians bombing the world with nuclear weapons, the Swim Wear ban in Kuwait.  But, on the front page of one newspaper, there’s an article that says that people in the US are ‘in a flap over alien life’ .   Well if anyone had bothered to ask ME about aliens, they needn’t have had all this controversy, they would have had proof that aliens DO in fact exist and that I, Miss Pigeon Mundy, Space Abductee Supreme have actually been on one of their spacecraft (please read the 11^th October entry). Now, I have been sworn to secrecy by the aliens about what I saw, although they did allow me to reveal that they are lizard like, so I’m afraid I can say no more and that you’ll just have to guess about the fantastic sights I was privy to.   Suffice it to say that we feathered creatures have a rather special status in alien society.  But no more.  Just guess.

Anyway, these aliens come and visit me on a regular basis and they always come at a specific time during the week. No, I can’t reveal the specific time and if you sit there in the corner of the car park, waiting, you will be disappointed as we have ways and means of knowing that you are there.

It’s the weekend and I am off to see a panto tonight. For those of you who don’t know what a panto is, it has nothing to do with underwear or slacks.  A panto is a pantomime.  A pantomime is a musical-comedy, British, often based on fairy tales but not always and the hero is usually a woman dressed as a man, there is usually a man dressed as a woman, a very ugly woman, who is hysterically funny.   The audience are always encounraged to take part in the pantos and to boo the villains and cheer the heroes when they come on stage.

The panto is Babes in the Wood.   I will tell you about it later.