J. Karst |  Journey in West Berkshire

     ‘Welcome to the new edition of this Guest Blog. I am a full-time working mum of 2 boys and a published novelist of ‘The Ninth Cross’ by my pen name J. Karst. I get involved in trying that little bit I can in saving the environment for the future generations.’

             The recent spike in temperature turned me into grumpy-pants. Only last night I realised how busy it gets at 2am in the morning, when the local wildlife starts to party. A quite loud male owl landed on my roof to hoot himself a female whilst a vixen howled from the park just for pleasure. This chorus was going on for about 30minutes. Eventually the fox stopped, but the male persisted like a teenager whose hormones kicked in.  

            A little break later the vixen found its voice and the sound of someone being strangled carried into my bedroom to keep me awake.  At least I didn’t dial 999 as I know the difference between a vixen and teenagers. Vixen at least just howl, whilst teenagers howl with an occasional profanity verbatim.  

            After 3am the vixen stopped and thankfully the male owl got a reply from a female. Hoping for his departure and sweating profusely I decided to open the windows to let some fresh air in.  This action was misinterpreted by the male owl as he started to hoot again. To make it even more pleasurable, the female owl landed on my neighbours’ roof and hooted her reply at the male.  

            A flicker of a bushy ginger tail took my attention to face the park where it was accompanied by clattering of the park bin contents. Foxes are surprisingly good diggers and about a second later the content of the bin was emptied onto the floor. I usually blamed the spotty teenagers of littering, but now I was much wiser and included foxes onto my naughty list.

            I had gone back to bed with a sour taste in my mouth – it was already 4am. The repetitive, rhythmical hoots worked similarly like counting sheep and probably about 5am I finally fell asleep, only to be woken up by the 7am alarm.

            Bags underneath my eyes, I desperately tried to get ready for work. Third coffee swirling inside my guts, I attempted to log into my computer. Somehow the brain was working, and I was surprised with its automatic repetitive action of remembering the passwords without the need to engage its memory cells.

Shocking as it was, my colleagues were also grumpy but for a completely different reason. They missed the heat wave and wanted it back! Clearly, they were able to sleep as they haven’t had to deal with a hungry vixen nor two horny owls playing hard to get…J.Karst

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