Wednesday, 21 May 2014

Ladybirds of the night.

We wandered the streets this morning and came to a sign that screamed 'Prostitutes'. The sign didn't actually scream the word 'Prostitutes', it didn't even say the word 'Prostitutes'. In fairness, it didn't need to. No, it simply read 'Lady Birds', but we all know what it really means. It means 'Prostitutes'. Ziggy and I peered in to find a cage like door, leading to a corridor. God knows what lurked beyond the door at the end. But it no doubt leads to a dingy flat above the takeaway where Lady Birds make sweet, fast, expensive, plastic love to drunken slobs and hen-pecked drifters. This place was never going to be the site of a children's nursery or an insect zoo was it? I ran a quick Google search and found that Lady Birds is classed as a 'Massage Parlour' or a 'Men's Health Studio'. Ha! The website provides a full list of the Lady Birds available and as can be expected, we have the obvious names on the rota.... Demi... Candy... Coral... Nikita and Miley. Classy.

Ziggy and I moved hastily along lest we be tarnished as dirty dawgs and made our way back home via the weir on the River Mersey. Aloft a tall pole stands the beacon of Northenden and a symbol of the wildlife that live in this delightful little area. A large metallic heron sculpture hangs over us and reminds us that Lady Birds are not the only creatures flying around fishing for tit bits.
Past the lovely heron comes the crashing sounds of water. Ziggy likes to peer over the fence and look at the weir. I don't know why. I think the loud noisy water gives him a thrill. Maybe somewhere inside that hairy brain of his he imagines a pretty lady dog screaming for help as she struggles in the foamy water created by the weir. In a flash, Ziggy has thrown off the shackles of his harness and dived into the river to aid the dogsel in distress...
In reality we know this to be nothing more than a dog dream. Ziggy can't swim and he probably wouldn't risk life and limb to save a lady dog from a bubbling river. The poor boy cries his little eyes out when a bowl of warm soapy water gets poured over his head for a wash, so there is no chance of any acts of heroism coming from him.

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