It is a beautiful spring morning.
The Baby has experienced a reasonably good night; I am refreshed and cheerful. I throw the curtains wide, like the bloke in the song.
376483 enormous cameras swing up to fix me in their gaze. I dethrow the curtains hastily.
Stomping downstairs, I find the LTLP making tea. “There are 376483 people outside pointing cameras at me,” I complain. “It must be something to do with the Gribledy-Grob.”
We have a rare Gribledy-Grob bird or suchlike nesting in our tree, which has caused comment amongst the birdwatcher fraternity. So far, I have found them pleasant people if a little eccentric. Len the Fish has explained to me that the bird is there because it likes my berries.
I peek through the kitchen blinds. Most of the berries have been eaten. This is annoying. They have been growing there for years, and I might have needed them some day, e.g. to poison people. I drink my tea, morosely.
The day progresses. The bird flits off after a while, doubtless to eat somebody else’s berries; the immense throng thins out accordingly. I chat to the occasional visitor. Again, they are pleasant and friendly, although they are disappointed to have missed the Gribbledy-Grob. Later on, I tape a sign outside to help them out.