Don't walk. Stay put on the curb.
Before the jet stream changed course again, a couple of evenings ago on a warm evening after a rare warm day, we are sitting in the garden beside the scaffolding. "Swifts," says Mrs P. and sure enough we hear, before we see them, their high pitched cries as they slice the air in pursuit of insects less agile then they. They are flying higher than usual, and despite estimations of their scarcity this year, more than I have seen together round here for a long time, perhaps 20 or 30 of them high above the roof tops, constantly on the move.
"Double? " Danny recalls working in a bar when he was 17. A big bloke with a tattoo on his neck ask for a gin. "Double or single? Silly question: "Does a bird fly on one wing?" was the response which 30 years later he hasn't forgotten. Danny likes to quote songs "Nine o'clock on a Saturday night. There's an old man sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin."