October 11. Day 284. Don't sh*t where you eat

My father was a man never short of a colourful phrase. One of them he'd pull out when the occasion called for it was: "Don't shit where you eat". On occasions the phrase was varied to end with sleep not eat. Still the message was clear and really had nothing to do with either poo or food. It just means don't mess things up in places where you like to hang out or with people you see regularly. Dad was full of good advice like that. It's the kind of words of wisdom the birds visiting Margaret next door might take to heart. I'd only just opened the windows after bringing Margaret home from the doctor's, when in flew the magpie. He hopped around the floor eating scraps of mince and then did a big, fat poo. Perhaps it's like burping. In my culture it's rude but in other places a big belch after a meal is the sign of your ultimate praise for the chef. It could be that a decent defecation clearing the way for more food is high praise indeed. Or perhaps it is just the sign of a creature who wasn't brought up with a man like my dad...