Quick! Buy a lottery ticket, you lucky lucky boy.
When one of the birds of the air drops a little present down to you – do ya feel lucky? Well, do ya punk? Or just angry?
The tradition in Ireland – and maybe other places – is that it’s lucky when a bird poops on you. That dirty yellowy white smear down the back of your anorak or dripping from your ear is… lucky! A fine example of rationalisation if ever I heard one.
According to the highly prestigious website My poptart tastes funny… it depends on what type of bird divebombs you. I’m afraid to say that Magpies are supposedly the worst – which is a shame as it was Magpie who chose the birds of the air as this week’s topic for the Loose Bloggers Consortium. Sorry Magpie. (You can read what the rest of the LBC lot have to say about this by clicking on their links in the right hand column. Just scroll down a bit to find them.)
Meanwhile, thinkers sit out waiting for owls to festoon them in fecal wisdom. (Though they don’t always get what they want.)
However, in one way at least, having a magpie leave a deposit on your bonce would indeed be lucky – when you consider the alternative. I direct you, gentle reader, to that classic song about a small town in Donegal where I had one of my best ever New Years. (To avoid confusion with any other Moville, I’m talking about the Moville a few miles up the road from Muff, which is most renowned for it’s diving club. Honestly it IS safe for work.)
But anyway, the song goes something like this:
Oh the cows they fly high in Moville Continue reading