Jenny often spends her evenings unwrapping birds from bird wrappers and watching them fly away. Some of them perch on the branches of the trees in her back garden.

Every evening there are places to go, people to meet, faces to switch on and watch the eyes light up. I know where the switches are. One evening I went around to all the places but there was no one there, no switches to switch on, so I used my index finger to get something out of my head and that thing I got out of my head won a prize in an essay contest. I wrote about birds. I'd often seen Jenny unwrap them, and watched the birds perch in the trees. The birds' pilots twitter when they fly. I listen to them, and sometimes I can make out words. One of the trees in her garden is called Giles and he has over fifty years experience as a tree. The sad, lonely birds perch on him and he listens to their tales of woe, like a bar man listening to drunks.

Bertie: Isn't that dangerous?
Roy: It would be if there was any snow.
Bertie: Mrs. Swarmleaf's dog ate a snowman.



Roy: My dog once ate a shoe. It was very embarrassing for me. The woman who owned the shoe was there at the time. I couldn't look her in the eye.
Bertie: I struggle to look in Janet's eye.
Roy: Which one?
Bertie: The one she keeps throwing up and down in the air like a ball.
Roy: You'd hurt your neck if you tried to look at that one for too long.