The Haddocking of Parrot Nirvana


Here’s the story of bacon, realisation, and two cupboards.

Do you ever wake up and something hits you in the face? No, I’m not talking about a ten-day-old haddock, and as stupid as that sounds, I have heard of folk that’s happened to. I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. I mean, really, surely a fresh one would have more of an impact on the facial region. I mean, unless that person was a vegetarian, then it would veer wildly from being absolutely hilarious, if somewhat comically violent, to being just plain cruel. Unless they’re the kind of vegetarian who’s totally against mass animal slaughter yet for some reason, eats bacon. Mind you, if there’s one thing that can push a vegetarian off the hemp made imagination powered boat, it is bacon. I mean, that is capable of curing just about everything. Except Athlete’s Foot, but if you’re rubbing bacon into your feet, then you have a serious bacon addiction. Although nobody is going to blame you for such splendour. Well, maybe the pigs will. It also won’t cure a haddock to the face, although it will give you the energy to get vengeance by retaliating against the initial assault by throwing something more substantial in that person’s face. A small child, for example. Although please, do think that through before you do it. You don’t want to look too crazy in life, as they say, but a little crazy will go a long way.

Realisation. Waking up one morn and not realising something, something that has been staring you in the face for God only knows how long. A mark on the wall or the ceiling fan isn’t correctly aligned, which may sound a tad crazy to the non-OCD among you. Just little things that jump out at you. Something small has gone missing but you didn’t see it. The woman sleeping next to you doesn’t look anything like your wife, although it’s a possibility she’s been haddocked. I mean, it’s likely she’s still alive but women don’t like it when you wake them. Even with a giant haddock on their face. Have you any idea how a she’d react? She’d shove it where the Sun doesn’t shine, and I’m not having someone do that to me again…

I didn’t realise I sung in the shower. Or that I apparently don’t know the words to any song any person has ever written. But I think we’re all like that. We all make up the words but the words we make up aren’t words. They’re kinda like the gibberish a baby who can’t speak yet comes up with. And the thing about this realisation, is that once one has realised it, you can’t ‘un-realise’ it, if you know what I mean. You just notice it forever more. And you try to stop, but you can’t. You just carry on, mumbling gibberish in the shower, powerless to stop. Like God has removed all logical thought. Or possibly, and this may be a long shot, just maybe, I’m a bit thick. But if I were thick, I’d be dead by now; something is keeping me alive. Setting fireproof oven gloves on fire is thick, but some magical force kept me alive. Maybe the same one that kept me oblivious to the shower gibberish.

“Whe, the fo, fa me, I, blah ble, blah blo. I don’t know wha bla, sar, far, ya, doooo! I’m the brawl if bread, something, la, fla, blah. Say, you fala me, cra, ma, sha, ma sha. I don’t want to fla la. Ma, oh my, oh ma. Say, Jude above. Ho! Where, cra, la, cra, I like parrots. I don’t know why, I just like parrots. Say, ma, la, fa ca, wha, da, ma, da, ma – say you follow me – something about socks, probably, I do follow you, la, ma, say, ca ma, la ma say, ca ma. Oh, one more time! Fa, la, la, la, whe, the fo, fa me…”

If you’ve ever watched True Detective, the theme tune is what I was shooting for. You should certainly go and listen to it; you’ll be able to see where I was coming from. I sure hope so, because that paragraph, which you must sing rather than read, really does make me sound like a tool. Mind you, the haddock bit earlier probably did that job, so I’m not sure, I must now be some kind of super tool. Yea, me.

I haven’t even got on to the dancing yet. I can’t help it. It’s such a catchy tune. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t realised that. Or mentioned it in this post. Well, I’m sorry. But I’m sure you’d have loved my dancing. Sort of, stand up straight, raise your arms to 90 degrees so they’re like ‘L-shaped’, clench your fists, and move both your arms back and forth like you’re pulling two giant levers in opposite directions. Like one of those exercise machines. Oh, and you must jiggle your backside. I’m real glad no one saw that. Mainly because I was naked and singing in what sounds like tongues.

I woke up one morning this week and I suddenly realised how tall I was. And now, whenever I stand up, I’m really scared I’m gonna fall over. I had no idea the sheer height of my size. When I grabbed dishes from the cupboard this week, I suddenly got a strong sense of vertigo. I looked down and thought, my God, that floor is a long way away. I got all wobbly and fell forward, causing a nasty altercation with the cupboard. What happened thereafter is a tad blurry. There was shouting. I may have kicked the lower cupboard and shouted some more as I really hurt my foot. Lots of things may have fallen out, drowning me in a sea on pots and pans as I lay weeping on the floor. It was a long day, is what I’m trying to say.

Why kicking the cupboard was my first thought is a man thing. Women don’t understand that. If they drop a glass, they’ll say, ‘Oh, dear’, and go and get a small brush and pan to sweep up the shattered remains. If a guy drops a glass, he’ll get angry and throw another one at the wall. I know ladies, I can’t explain it either. We just do it. And I fully accept that it was wrong of me to lash out and kick the lower cupboard after I altercated with the upper cupboard. I’m a man and I am capable of seeing how stupid that was. I mean, it was the upper cupboard that did the damage, why did I kick the lower cupboard, it did nothing wrong. I should’ve attacked the upper cupboard.

How can one not realise how tall they are, hmm? It’s rather strange. It got me thinking, readers. What else am I missing? What if there’s something blatantly obvious that I can’t see? What if one day I don’t see the man coming after me with a haddock? Honestly? Maybe I’m getting old. I’m nearly 24. What? Stop laughing. No, stop it. Come on now, stop laughing. That is old. What? Stop laughing, I mean it. No. No. Stop. I’m telling, I’m telling. Hah. That shut you up. Meanies.

I’ve started grunting. When I stand up I make a noise. When I bend down, I make a noise. Heck, when I clamber over the bathtub, I make a noise. All come about lately. Hell, some days I give up trying to get up and stay where I am. Sure, you get nothing done, but you have a lot of naps, and I like naps. Also a recent occurrence.

I don’t know what the world has in store for me. Or what I’m missing. Or why I’m grunting. But one thing I do realise, is obvious. No amount of living can prepare you for a haddocking.

And considering the week I’ve had, that’s a pretty lousy lesson to have learnt. Ah well, you live and learn.


Canadian experimental psychologist, cognitive scientist, linguist and science author, Steven Arthur Pinker (b. 1954), once said: “I would argue that nothing gives life more purpose than the realisation that every moment of consciousness is a precious and fragile gift.”

Peace Out :|:

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the archives page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read the Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
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