Pining For the Fjords

(S)he’s not pining, (s)he’s passed on!

Naw, naw, naw, (s)he’s restin’.  Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue.  Beautiful plumage.

And etc.  (Yes, I can regurgitate the entire thing.  Don’t get me started.)  I just wanted to register a complaint point out that assumptions of my demise, while entirely reasonable, are in fact erroneous.

I have just had a truly colossal case of writer’s block.  The kind you can see from outer space.

But I figured I could at least share this, because it makes me positively giddy (dreadful tinny sort of word … bound, vole, recidivist … sorry, I’m digressing again).

When I tell you that my gelding Spike’s registered name is, in fact, Norwegian Blue, you will begin to fathom the depth of my appreciation for a 50 foot fibreglass parrot in Potter’s Fields in London.  Click the link already or I shall be forced to taunt you a second time.