Birds

 Young Will comments, after the old man who came and sat at our table has left to tend to his owl, that he’s a proper old Welsh gent- Calm, hypnotic, yet extremely intense. It’s the kind of weird thing you expect in this part of the world. You’re sitting at a table in what used to be a car park, enjoying a pint of beer, and an old gentleman with an owl turns up and starts chatting.

Twenty minutes later we’re standing in a sort of queue with the owl swooping dangerously low over our heads.

“When I say duck, duck,” the old gent says.

Can I just lie on the floor? I don’t fancy being assaulted by an owl.

This feels all kinds of strange, but it gets even stranger as (somehow) we end up following this man back to his van, in a car park around the corner. The man puts the owl down on a perch, and then from his van he pulls out a hawk, and then a smaller owl, a barn owl.

I take a step backwards. The hawk looks like it wants to see what my eyes taste like and the owl doesn’t look too friendly either. Megan is soon suggesting we invite this owl guy to do a proper social sort of thing later in the year. I’m not sure I agree. Rebecca is dispatched to put the barn owl back to bed.

Only it doesn’t want to go. Which means that for at least an hour we’re all stood in this car park with a strange man and his birds. I stand at the back, not wanting to get too near.

Growing tired, I eventually shuffle off. Being the first to leave the rest to (possibly) be clawed to death.

This was technically my first social as social sec. I hope the rest of them, if we get socials, aren’t this crazy.