Up above the chimney pots

Saturday morning and even before six am the sun streams over the rooftops of North London and through my bedroom windows. Despite my ailing body, arthritic – worn out & decrepit telling me all is not well the sunlight streaming through the glass sings a different song.

The absurdity of these last few mornings – beautiful clear blue skies that make my head feel happy whilst my body is anything else but is really quite odd. My head pipes up with the thoughts of a dozen things I want to get on and do and then when I try to do anything I find that there is no gas in the tank. 

I follow this repeated early morning pattern, a creaky rise out of bed in my top floor bedroom, the stilted lumbering steps to the bathroom, I pee, then open the skylight, poke my head out of the window and survey the rooftops whilst I have a cigarette.

At this relatively early hour it’s just me and the birds, they are already busy in a social whirl, like teenagers on alco-pops charging around after each other. 

A hundred yards or so down the road I notice something on a rooftop, a bloody enormous bird of prey watching. Bloody Nora, a bird of prey in London, how amazing is that!

I am mesmerised by this animal – how amazing that even here in this massive sprawling city nature finds a way of existing. I don’t know my birds, to be honest with you men that are into bird spotting always struck me as a bit creepy, a bit like train spotters, I mean what sort of bloke finds contentment in writing down train numbers, but anyway, back to the bird:

I figure its some kind of large Hawk I can’t tell you which. I spend ages watching it, periodically it turns its head in one direction or another, I wait for the moment it takes to the skies and swoops on some unsuspecting pigeon but there it remains perched on the rooftop, sitting watching and waiting. After a while I pootle off and later on check the internet to see if I can work out what species it is, but the distance away of the bird makes it too difficult to work out. 

The following morning he’s there again, same spot, surveying the bird life of N17. I wonder if I will see him take flight, I spend fifteen minutes with my head craned out of the skylight trying to catch a glimpse of him taking to the wing, nowt, the lazy bastard just stands there watching and turning his head every once in a while. 

Day three, I am now getting the bird with the bird, the f*cker is there again, just hanging round doing nothing. He just turns his head from left to right at what seems like regular intervals, hang on a minute, regular intervals? There’s something not right with this, I end up timing the head movements, every four minutes, like clockwork, or electronic. Thats it, the little fuc*ker is a decoy bird to scare off the pigeons, Tit that I am I’ve just spent the last three days staring at a bloody plastic bird and thinking how lovely it was.

My little nature ramblings brought to a cruel conclusion I decide its time to concentrate on my arthritis & maybe my life. Maybe I can do something to improve my health. 

I start by digging out a set of dumbbells from storage, my upper body muscles have really gone to pot, I should try exercising, only thing is that they’ve gone so far that a 5kg dumbbell is a bit on the heavy side, I pick up one only to lose my grip and drop it on my foot, but never mind, they also make a really good door stop, so all’s not lost. 

I also find a bottle of CBD oil whilst going through boxes, I chug a few drops and that lovely remembered scent of cannabinoid product hits my nostrils and throat, but it just makes me think of skimmed milk and how really I only want double cream. Again never mind, it’s my birthday before too long, maybe I can get full fat weed? Purely for medicinal purposes you understand. 

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