Truth is rarely pure and never simple

When I first started writing these pages in 2003, I adopted ‘Shooting Parrots’ as a nom de blog. I’m not quite sure why I thought semi-anonymity was a good idea as I don’t slag off people I know as a rule, nor do I lay bare any great secrets. I suppose that hiding behind a feathery icon seemed like the done thing at the time.

Why Shooting Parrots?

The story behind the title goes back some years when we were taking our kids to Clayton Vale, a country park in east Manchester. It was once the industrial heartland of the area, but now it is a strip of green, between the city centre and Openshaw, either side of the River Medlock.

As we dropped into the valley, I told my wife that I used to drive that route in my youth, to collect a friend to go parachuting at Cark in the Lake District. Several minutes passed, and I was parking the car, when my then five year old daughter, Miss P, piped up from the back seat.

“Well, I think that’s cruel.” Me and Mrs P looked at each other, nonplussed.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Shooting parrots,” she said. “That’s very cruel.”

Parents even more nonplussed. Then the penny dropped. Parachuting = parrot shooting to a judgmental five year old.

However, should you truly want to go shooting parrots, try this game:

The Parrot Hunter Flash Game