09 March, 2011

 

A parliament of crows

Well, OK, if you're going to be picky about avian collective nouns, it's a murder of crows (or, interestingly, a congress of crows) and a parliament of rooks. Wha'ever, innit?

Anyway I think this lot are crows; I've never managed to get close enough to up-end one and read the label. They're sitting in a tree across the street. And they're making the most godawful racket about something.

And I thought to myself, I thought, ah, midday on a Wednesday: PMQs.

Comments:
Likely rooks; they're madly social and loud. Crows are more solitary and don't make so much noise.

Rooks: big, shiny black, grey beak, raggedy feathers round legs (like baggy shorts) and a pronounced "forehead".

Crows: no baggy shorts, no forehead, little noise.

Simples!

(I have dozens of the bastard things in trees outside the office making noise all day. Rook pie is said to be quite tasty, if you like WW2 survival cooking. Pass the air rifle, please).

 
Likely rooks; they're madly social and loud. Crows are more solitary and don't make so much noise.

Rooks: big, shiny black, grey beak, raggedy feathers round legs (like baggy shorts) and a pronounced "forehead".

Crows: no baggy shorts, no forehead, little noise.

Simples!

(I have dozens of the bastard things in trees outside the office making noise all day. Rook pie is said to be quite tasty, if you like WW2 survival cooking. Pass the air rifle, please).

 
Hmm. Sorry re double post; no idea what happened there, 7 minutes apart.

 
No worries. Multiple posting syndrome affects us all, especially as we get older.

If the birds turn up for another choir practice, I'll try to get a closer look at them. The baggy shorts analogy makes it difficult to take them seriously and leaves me imagining groups of young rooks strutting about, each wearing baggy shorts and a gold medallion round the neck, screeching "We are da Woolwich Caw Massive" and headbutting any pigeons they come across.

 
Young rooks? Nah. Those'll be the old ones throwing their weight about and giving the pigeons a Glasgow Kiss.

Under pressure, I'd have to admit to a sneaking liking for rooks. Something in my miserable angry middle-aged Britishness yearns to be more outgoing, less caring of what other people think, and generally just more extrovert.

Just like the rooks. I'll pass on sitting 40 feet up in a tree, though. But not on shitting on selected passers-by..... :o)

 
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