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Birds

My world is full of dead birds

July 5, 2009 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

British writer Mo FanningFSorry for the dreadfully irregular updates, but it’s been a dark and miserable time, which I hope I’m coming out of.

But enough of that. Time to consider the strange things I’ve noticed this summer.

  • There are lots of dead birds around.
  • Hairdressers take holiday at the most awkward times.
  • My dog is accident-prone.

Oh and I’ve remembered how to write – though the mere act of mentioning this will most likely strike me with the most awful writer’s block before this blog is out.

Birds of a Feather

So first with the birds. I know nature can be cruel and it’s all down to survival of the fittest. Not to mention how everything happens for a reason. But hardly a day goes by that I don’t discover some pigeon, blackbird or other winged creature lying dead in a bush. A quick trawl through Google suggested people get kinda twitchy around deceased avian matter. Wiki Answers remains my source of truly mad folk – I recommend it highly for uninformed lunacy – it’s the stuff of great novels.

One poor soul recounted his story thus:

“I was working on a movie set when I saw the first dead bird… a week later I lost my job. Then my apartment flooded in the floods of 08 here in the midwest and I was forced to move, then my fiancee went to the hospital and stayed for a week due to a serious head injury.”

Now call me cynical, but that just sounds like being rubbish at your job, having bad luck and planning to marry someone who’s too much of a liability to be out on their own.

But Wiki Answers is home to some supremely barking people – many of them a tad on the religious side. ID1136157310 – it may not be his or her birth name – chipped in an opinion.

“That is called superstition, which greatly offends God because as long as we worship and exalt him, and stay true to the Virgen Mary, we will be protected. Superstition should be renounced and avoided.”

ID1136157310 also offers sage advice on why Martin Luther split from the Catholic church (he was a sinner) and the existence of Santa (St. nicholas is very real and should be prayed to by children, especially around Christmas.)

He or she might not be all that stable.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Some time back I talked about changing hairdressers. It’s a thorny topic and one close to many people’s hearts. After all, you put your life (or at least the next month or so of it) in their hands every time you sit down in one of those chairs that looks like something a dentist would have.

I’ve been through it. I’ve upped and moved and run into my former barber in a bakers with little more than a supremely awkward smile. Now comes the challenge for Mr Fanning.

For some time, we’ve been going to the same lanky fop. He’s nice enough, but a touch on the simple side with one of those botoxed brows and back combed 90s hair (sort of A Flock of Seagulls but without the blonde bit). His English isn’t so great and he asks the same stock questions every time. (Plus we got into something of a row over who recorded ‘The Lemon Tree‘ when it came on the radio. He insisted it was Sting, I insisted it was some German bloke who nobody has heard of since. For the record it was Fool’s Garden, a German band, who have struggled to repeat their early chart success, so I was mostly right). Anyhow, I digress.

There ought to be a law about when hairdressers can take time off. Summer is obviously not on. People want to look their best for their two weeks in the sun. Same at Christmas and New Year and for birthdays. In short, these people provide a vital service. They ought to be made to ring round their regulars and check when would suit. We all ought to have a vote on it. Or at the very least, they could mention it when you go to see them.

Said lanky fop did no such thing. And with Mr F. due to pay a visit back home, he called to make an appointment. Only to find our guy was sunning himself somewhere for two weeks. Did he risk having his hair cut by a total stranger (lanky fop senior) or go without and risk maternal tuts and sighs. He bit the bullet and made an appointment.

All day I sat at my desk, hoping he hadn’t made the most awful mistake. Then, at 5, he called: ‘I’m in the pub, come and meet me,’ adding, ‘I’m just inside, not out on the street.’

That doesn’t sound good, I thought. So, I pulled on my coat and went to find someone I hoped didn’t look too much like Sideshow Bob.

Surprise, surprise, it was a great cut. ‘The best ever,’ confirmed my better half.

And now he’s on the horns of the most terrifying dilemma. This wouldn’t be any of your usual divorcing of a hairdresser thing. He’d be leaving the current one for the current one’s father.

They work next to each other. It isn’t one of those big airy salons where you can hide behind a display of hair extensions or pick and choose the day when the one you want to avoid is off. they’re both there. ALL THE TIME.

It’s a delicate situation and one I’ll be sure to update my dear readers on in the coming months,

Those Doggone Steps

I’ll end up the tale of a clumsy dog. He started the month by getting into a scrap with the vicious bastard of a dog who lives with a (hugely unpleasant) woman of restricted growth two doors down. She struggles. It’s bigger than her and looks like it would tear the face off anyone who so much as looks at it. Turns it that was exactly what it tried to do.

Luckily our boy held his own and escaped with just a puncture wound to the ear. The vet stitched it all up and he looked set to live another day. Then the clumsy sod went and fell down the bedroom stairs. Not just the bottom few. He went the full length, from top to bottom, landing on his back leg and tearing three tendons – which in case you didn’t know is really big deal in a dog.

Cue frantic calls to the animal ambulance (of course, this had to happen at the weekend) and a long wait in a room filled with a mix of almost dead and very much alive but angry dogs and cats.

He was given painkillers, but we’ve been warned it’s a long journey back to recovery, which started with Mr. Fanning and I having to carry 24 kilos of annoyed canine up and down ladder-like stairs.

He’s getting better and there’s already talk of mild therapy involving a rope and tennis ball. Hopefully a week in France will work wonders.

The Write Stuff

So last on the list comes the writing. After months of feeling totally unable to string together a sentence and wondering if I’ll ever do anything worthwhile again. I’ve gone back to an old story and given it a new twist and plot. Ghost Story remains very dear to my heart. It started life as ‘help’ almost three year ago and had been completed more times than I’ve had anchovy pizzas (about three, always by accident). It’s about to change title again as the whole concept is new and the characters hopefully more grounded. I’ll be posting extracts when I think it’s good enough to see.

It’s got ghosts, it’s got alcoholism, it’s got someone in an outfit that looks like three dusters tied together with shoelaces. And I hope you’ll love it.

Filed Under: Amsterdam, Diary Tagged With: Amsterdam, Birds, Depression, Dogs, Hairdressers, Writing

Take a seat Mo Fanning

June 30, 2007 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

Writing tips by Mo FanningIt finally happened to me this month. The moment I’d been dreading – and I should be honest and say I didn’t deal with it particularly well.

I’d finished work for the day, left the office, shuffled round a supermarket mumbling to myself about the prices and lack of choice in Amsterdam stores before joining the snaking queue to pay. With rain in the air, I decided to take a tram home and as luck would have it, a number four appeared. It was crowded, but the joy of this line is that it stops just two minutes from my front door. I boarded, pushing through the crowds and found a spot to stand.

I became aware of a youngish bloke staring at me. When I say youngish, he was about twenty. Something told me he wasn’t sizing me up for potential husband material. Indeed this was confirmed shortly after.Photo of crow

It all happened so quickly and yet seemed to move in slow motion. He stood, still staring at me and already I knew what was next. Deep inside I screamed at him to just sit back down, back away and nobody need get hurt. He touched my arm – in the way you do when you’re trying to get the attention of old people – and offered his seat. I was mortified and have to say I handled it with extremely bad grace.

‘I’m ok standing, I don’t need to sit down,’ I spat. Clearly I said this louder than I intended as people turned to stare. I was wearing an iPod Shuffle, surely that told them all I was still young and ‘with it’. He looked shocked and apologetic, but could hardly take back the offer, so he came and stood right next to me, studiously looking the other way while I fumed.

I would have loved the seat, don’t get me wrong, but there was a principal at stake here. Someone else saw their chance and grabbed the place, allowing me to dole out acid-fuelled stares for the rest of the journey home.

Is this what I’ve come to? I need to have something published soon to stop me becoming even more of a hateful old man.

Other news this month involves birds. Crows to be more specific. Our back garden has become home to a family of nesting crows who party all night and take heed of the old proverb about getting the worm if they’re first out of the nest. Our back garden is also home to a number of prowling neighbourhood cats. Mix the two and you get noise, pure and simple.

Cats fight, cats try to invade nest of crows, crows are most vicious birds I’ve ever seen, crows attack, crows squawk from dawn to dusk and then some. Mo is woken up and gets extraordinary grumpy – more so than normal. Current novel suffers major setbacks due to sleep depravation. Do these birds not even understand that they are also depriving the public of a great work of fiction? Philistines.

My only other regret this month is allowing myself to get sucked back into Big Brother. After avoiding it for almost  five years (I watched the first few series), I’ve given in and watched more than the odd show this year. each morning I fire up my browser to see what Charley, Ziggy and Carole are up to – usually nothing much, apart from arguing about hair straighteners and milk.

I’m trying to argue that it is great character research for my writing. I’m lying.

Enjoy the month, may the sun shine where you are and may all your doughnuts turn out like Fanny’s.

Filed Under: Amsterdam, Diary, Writing Tagged With: Age, Amsterdam, Big Brother, Birds, Writing

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About Mo Fanning

Mo Fanning (@mofanning) tells jokes on a stage and writes commercial fiction. He’s the bestselling author of The Armchair Bride and Rebuilding Alexandra Small. Mo makes fabulous tea – milk in last – and is a Society of Authors member and cancer bore.

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