A family walk in the British countryside in glorious spring sunshine. Alice is espousing on the nature of birds. Some might call it prattling without pausing for breath. I prefer to call it imaginative free-styling. For some reason, known only to herself, Alice is full of the Yuletide spirit.
“The birds are all singing their own Christmas carols. They have their own religion about the giant crystal snowflake that flies over the world giving the birds presents on their version of Christmas Day, but they call it Snow Bubble Day, and they announce it to each other in their bird-language called ‘Twitter’. Sometimes they go ‘tweet-tweet!’ at each other, and sometimes they go ‘tweet-twat!’…”
“…and sometimes they go ‘twit-twit-twoo!’, and sometimes they go ‘twoot-twat-twey!’…”
[Sarah and I exchange amused, but slightly concerned, glances. We are about to walk through a quiet village centre, our Alice is hitting her stride, and she is declaiming loudly as if it were the Sermon on the Mount]
“…and sometimes they go ‘twooot!’, but that’s the bigger birds, and the smaller birds go ‘tweety-twatty-twit!’…”
“…and when they really get carried away, they go ‘TWAT-TWAT-TWAT-TWAT!’…”
OK, Al, there’s something we need to tell you…