Parrot talk...

Imagine a rainbow swooping down out of the sky - blues, violets, greens, oranges, reds and yellows - a tropical paradise of colour on such a grey day, swooping in like a circus to make the world laugh out loud and God knows we all need that.

My sister posted this picture this morning; imagine this landing on your bird table. What an adventure that would be. Well, at least it would where I live. Where my sister lives though it’s an everyday-run-of-the-mill-nothing-out-of-the-ordinary event. A parrot or two on your bird table… yeah, nothing special, what of it?

I remember the places we used to take a run-out to as children, Bourton-on-the-Water with its Birdland and model village, a tiny stream running through the cream stone town, thatches and beams and spiked hollyhocks. Every Sunday a sun day, windows wound down to let the heat out, red leatherette and egg sandwiches, picnics by the side of the road, bluebell woods, strange old carnivals hidden in the trees, a house of mirrors, damp Welsh caves, chalk and flint hills with trees to climb, Bristol Zoo, London Zoo, Whipsnade Zoo, Woburn Abbey, deep green pools of orange fish as long as my arm and peacocks and parrots.

A parrot on my bird table? Well, no stranger than the rest of my life just now.

I wonder if she’d swap for a sparrow?