birdhouse in your soul

I'm typing this covered in scratches, scrapes and little holes in my hands, due to a rather excruciatingly awkward incident involving a small boy and his football. 

This morning I was walking across a carpark, having just arrived for a meeting, when the aforementioned ball came hurtling over the large hedge towards me. I thought I'd do my good citizenly duty and I called over to the lad behind the hedge, throwing the ball back over to him, only to lodge the ball firmly into the top of the hedge, about 7 feet in the air, due to my terrible aim. Cue me climbing into the wretched hedge and wrestling the prickly, thorny branches in an unsuccessful attempt to recover the ball, whilst trying to reassure its increasingly impatient young owner. Eventually I admitted defeat and went inside the building to find a suitable utensil to aid me in my task and returned with one of those poles with the hooks on the end, designed for opening high windows. Thankfully this was right tool for the job and finally boy and ball were reunited.

I went into my meeting feeling rather flustered and sore, but managed to put the incident behind me and successfully deliver my presentation. It was only after I had finished, that my boss helpfully pointed out that my hair was full of dead leaves. Seamlessly professional, as ever. Anyway, I now have ten blissful days off work, so I can be as scruffy as I like- hurrah! 

I came home today to find that Steve and the girls had made this très chic little birdhouse that Uncle Dan & Auntie Ruby sent Flora for her birthday. I wonder how long it will be before a hipster bird makes it his new bedsit?