What sort of life is this when a poor old bugger can’t even lie in bed? The bloody kookaburras set up a racket of laughter at 6:00am. Then the damned black cockies start their shrieking and the whip birds, well I only wish that I could crack a whip like that.
Now the sun is shining so fiercely that everyone has to sit outside for breakfast. And speaking of food, some lousy little critter ate the piece of bread that I left on the table last night. I shouldn’t complain ‘cos he saved me from having to put it in the bin, but did he have to leave his muddy little footprints behind?