Sunday, 29 November 2015
Like a scene from Alfred Hitchcocks, The Birds, I was walking around out in the open along with Twelly from work. Thousands of black coloured birds were perched on phone wires and roof tops ready to strike. It was getting dark and Twelly was trying to find somewhere for us to hide.
We ran through what looked like people's gardens but there were no houses and no cover to be found. I shouted at Twelly that we really needed to get out of sight soon. He shouted back that we had to find a cave, nothing else would be any good.
I went from running to calmly walking in the summer sun and Twelly had vanished, as had the birds. I entered a lovely big garden with lovely flowers and freshly cut lawns. There were four gardeners standing in the centre of the lawn.
I approached them and spoke to the oldest looking one. He had white hair and a very hairy neck where he needed a trim up, he was a bit scruffy looking. I asked him to be my gardener and in a soft Irish accent he agreed.
Posted by Max Walsh
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