It’s hot. It’s just gone 1pm and it’s in excess Of 35°c or about 98°f for the Americans. It is certainly hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement and some bacon to go with it. A cold beer to wash it down and a nap to time jump the heat to cooler times. I think about the birds and wonder if they are bothered by the heat and hoe they’re coping with it. I like to imagine they’re having a ‘pool-side bird-bath party’ and shaking their tail feathers while tweeting the day away.
“Hey Charlie, great party mate, look at all these chicks, a good haul buddy.” “Thanks Murph, I think it’s the marble, chicks love the marble bath.” “I reckon so. Oi, check out the little gallah, splashing up a scene and squawking, fucking terrific. You always throw the best birdbath parties”. “Chur baby, I know it” “Should we break out the swing? Get some real fun cranking?” “Chur baby,lets do it”
And that’s. How I imagine the dialogue between our birdly brothers would go.