There is a twig at the top of the tree at the bottom of the garden that is like a kind of Speaker's Corner for the local birds. They hop on and off in turn, say their piece, hurl abuse at the black cat from over the back, and move on. I sat there in the sun the other day taking their pictures. They aren't the prettiest of birds, just the odd sparrows and garden finches that pass by. None of them is an oil painting come to life but I like them just the same. I wonder what they're saying?