Kamikaze Songbirds

So apparently there's this thing called sleep...

Not that I've been getting any lately. Not for more than an hour at a time anyway, which might explain why I'm turning into a super-grouch. Woe betide that any brave soul should attempt to engage me in conversation, they'll be lucky to get an entire sentence in response. And then people have to cheek to expect that I might want to spend time in their company - yeah right! I may have things to do, but I ain't doing them with you thanks all the same...

I should probably go on retreat, the silence and peace would suit me nicely. I often used to think in my youth that I'd make a good nun (well, apart from that silly bit about believing in a god anyway), but now I reckon I should just go the whole hog and become a modern-day hermit. All I need is a nice comfortable cave, preferably with electricity and an internet connection (well if movie villains can have secret hideouts complete with rockets hidden in mountainsides, I don't think it's asking too much), and a daft aristo with more money than sense to leave me food in payment for the privilege of my presence.

Just imagine it - no need to work, no annoying crowds, no traffic, no irritating neighbours, just peace, contemplation and serenity. Sounds like heaven...


Oh, and kamikaze songbirds are the entertainment at 6am round here signified by a mysterious thud on the patio doors.