Gnome

Bloomin ducks

'Er's been putting out peanuts for the birds. I don't mind 'em. Bit of flutter, bit of tweet tweet, nice. Might be a problem if they took too much interest in me and the snail, but as I don't have a peanut tree growing out of me 'ead they leave me alone, and if they tried to peck the snail they'd break their beaks. Not that 'e'd notice.

But now it's ducks. Same story as last year. First thing in the morning, down to the river, off she goes with 'er 'andful of sliced 'olemeal, I swear to you, it's only them ducks that gets 'er out of bed in the morning. Thing is, you start off with a duck and a drake, waddle waddle, gobble gobble, and then you'e got a dozen of them all 'oming in on the bread and making a racket like the first rehearsal of the Clarinet Band of the Yorkshire Inebriates. That's what I object to. The racket. And if anyone makes any remarks about driving me quackers I'll run 'em over with me snail.

One of these days 'er's going to break her ankle slithering down that garden to them ducks, and then what will she do? Sit at that piano banging out Rudolf the Red-Nosed blooming Reindeer. At least them ducks know when to go to sleep.

Blimey. I'm glad the snail don't sing.