Moving to the exotic

For ages we have lain in bed listening to the birds that have nested in the mature tree outside the house. For ages we listened to the mummy & daddy birds obviously taking joy in their little broad. From dawn to dusk, it was the breeding season ... we understood.

Until one day, the beau debated the origin of such a screech and the relentless noise, and went on an investigative walk. Oh yes, in the surburbs of the working class demographic geographical environs of Hampshire is a garden with a shed in it, and in that shed is not one, but four birds of paradise (I assume with all the correct paperwork).

We just need a sand pit in the garden and we can imagine we are in the exotic wilds... joy.