I made friends with a cockatiel today. It clung onto the bars of the cage and tweeted lovingly at me. Having been shunned by a little green minx of a budgie, it sat with its head hung forlornly and wolf-whistled quietly and repeatedly in my direction, much to the outrage of The Boyfriend. It looked unhappy there amongst the hundreds of budgies. Me and The Boyfriend planned to go back at midnight to rescue it from the plight of feeling not quite the same as everyone else, but not knowing how or why it feels so different.

(Obviously there are no mirrors there. I doubt it knows what it is.)

I wonder whether it knows it is Valentine's Day today. I may return with some red wrapping paper with monkeys blowing kisses on it. Birds like making holes in paper. Especially books and newspapers.

I think in my former life I was some sort of bird.



The Boyfriend has just left. It feels strange after having spent the past few nights together.