Living in a world gone mad – what rainbow lorikeets eat.

This year’s family vac up near the border of Queensland and New South saw me poolside with a somewhat rotund belly.   Because I am a complete pig for hotel breakfasts and discovered the Bircher Muesli for the first time, I put it all down to too much smf (stuffing my face).  And a morning coffee is nothing if not washed down with a good croissant or two.

Cute on the Potbelly Piglet - not so much on me.

A few weeks later and still distinctly uncomfortable a friend suggested I go wheat-free for a while and see what happens.  What happened was that within 24 hours I was back to my flat tummy self with minimal discomfort.

Which brings us to the loaf of bread in the fridge that I tried to get rid of on Friday night.  It might have been there for some time but I believe that’s besides the point completely.

My parents have a growing colony of birds, rainbow lorikeets – that visit their balcony for bread.

The rainbow lorikeets - precocious children it appears......

My limited understanding of birds is that you feed them whatever leftover, mouldy and out of date bread you happen to have lying around.

Wrong people, wrong!

I stupidly offered the loaf of Burgen seeded bread for Women’s Health or some nonsense – thinking seeds, birds, bread.  All good.

Good for Women's Wellbeing. For birds, uh-uh!!!!

Then a look passes between my parents.

And I think – now wtf is going on here?

There is stuttering and stumbling and eventually Percy says no.

It’s too old.

What? What?

Stunned, was I, stunned.

I slip into recovery mode – determined to make them take the bread.

I tell them that its birds. Birds for God’s sake. They don’t know how old it is– they eat whatever you give them.

Wrong again.

My father goes on to inform me that they only eat WHITE bread.  [nothing Dutch Reform Church about him]

Good all round. But what do you add to make it even better????

It gets better…….

If you put sugar on it they like it even more.  They both go on to inform me that they’ve stopped that because ants were coming to the balcony from the sugar.

At this stage (and two double vodka’s to the wind), I’m ready to book them into an institution or run screaming from the dining room.

They’re still feeding the birds at home, so you know what happened next.

Running screaming...

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