There’s a bird in my room… NOW WHAT?

I live in a Victorian house. This not only means I have experienced some serious ‘bump in the night’ incidents while I’ve lived here, there is also a fire place in every room. ‘Oh how ornamental’ you may be thinking ‘what I would do for a pretty fire place in my bedroom’. 

No.

You do not want a fire place in your room.

Why?

Because birds fall down them.

The incident happened this morning while I was ‘revising’ (dancing to Wham in my underwear). 

Anyway, I heard a faint fluttering echoing from the chimney breast at about 1 minute and 37 seconds through ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’. I wasn’t unnerved by this, after all, birds fall down my chimney all the time and they either escape or admit to their sooty death and die in silence before slowly sliding down and falling onto my carpet many months later (yes I have had bird carcass in my room more than once).

Well not this one.

This one was different.

This one escaped.

I am going to have to assume that this bird is the reincarnation of Harry Houdini (ruling out the possibility that George Michael has some sort of hypnotic effect on birds of course) as this has never ever happened before. 

I didn’t notice that the flapping was more frantic than ever before as I was pretty into the dancing by then (if you count big fish, little fish, cardboard box as dancing. Does that count? I’m gonna go with yes, fish don’t get enough credit in this world. Nor do card board boxes for the matter). However, I finally noticed the severity of the situation when what can only be described as a snap, crackle and a pop erupted from the chimney and echoed around my room.

I paused the music and slowly approached the fire place, completely unaware of the beast that was lurking below. I moved my beanbag from its position as bird carcass and soot blocker and was there?

A bird.

And this one was far from dead.

It squawked at me once, spread it’s wings and took flight circling my room.

And what did I do?

I screamed.

I screamed my butt off. I had never screamed that loud in my life. That is, until I discovered my door handle was stuck.

So the only thing left to do was use my fists. I am not exaggerating when I say the sides of my hands are blue with bruises from banging on that door.

Luckily my mum was there not to let me out, but to stand outside my room trying to work out was I was saying ‘What are you saying? Something’s burning? There’s a bomb in your room?’

Thanks mum.

Anyway, I can report that I was eventually let out of my room and the bird was released back into the wild after a stern word from me about breaking and entering.

If you have a chimney in your house, here’s a tip; put a bean bag in front of it and never EVER try to move it.

 

 

plastic bag full of plastic bags

Is it just me who has a plastic bag full of other plastic bags in their house? It hit me today that I only think of this as normal because my mum has been collecting these bags since I can remember.
These bags are currently stored under the stairs in the plastic bag our TV came in. However, I’m not sure how much time we have left before the understairs storage can take no more. After all, these bags are never even used for anything, what kind of emergency are my parents storing them for?

Visiting family

So today five family members turned up for an ‘unexpected stay’ in my four bed house… with four people already living in it. Despite being two of the four people who actually live in this house, me and my sister have both been kicked out of our rooms and forced to sleep on the single sofa bed.

Also, does anyone else feel like they can’t speak or walk or do anything they usually do when they have family over? Especially since i see my family about once every two years and barely recognize them when I do. I also have no idea when they’re leaving. Woop-de-do.