The Birder

First, he needed to double-check that he was buying the absolutely best possible field guide. A sixty-year-old version of Andy Warhol was now browsing the bird shelves. Guy hesitated. He could just go with the book he had chosen.

From a neighbouring section behind him a thundering sneeze demanded attention. Some fat bastard in an overcoat -- an overcoat? In this weather? And fatty did glisten with sweat although he also looked weirdly cold with a faint blue tinge to his complexion. White shock-haired Warhol had also turned to look and now grimaced at Guy, committing him to make some show of examining the merchandise.

“Am I in your way?” – Scots tones.

Guy hefted his book. “I was just... I don't know if this is for me.”

“The Larousse, aye. Good for beginners.”

“Oh, I’m not... I mean,” Guy couldn't get away from the older man’s hair. Was it a wig? “Do any books organise birds by colour?”

“Ach, a real beginner.”

Guy mumbled. He didn't even know what himself. He gestured and that too was meaningless to him. He looked back at the overcoat, which had moved closer.

“What colour would you be wanting?”

“Brown, on the head.” Guy patted his own sparse thatch. “I think: it was quick.”

“Where?”

“The head, I’m sure.”

“No, where, as in place.”

“Brandon Hill.”

“Aye, let's try type of place, then.”

Guy pictured himself back in Latin lessons with that old twat, Symes, hammering on about tense? subject? declension? A snoring told him that the fat man was even nearer – a snoring interspersed with nasty, liquidy sounds.

Guy fought his way back to the conversation. “A bush?”

“Are you no sure this bird wasnae grey?”

Guy shook his head. “I can't remember.”

“Well, laddie, you need to write it down. Or draw a wee sketch.”

“Ha! With my O-level art?”

The avian expert’s blue eyes switched from interrogation to amusement. “Come now, a couple of circles, a few lines?”

Another mighty sneeze punctured the air. Guy almost felt droplets raining on him.

He brandished the book. “I've got to –”

“Of course, you'll find your bird in there.”

Guy wheeled in the direction of the cashier but a strangled sneeze, ominous silence and then the sound of cascading, clattering... what? He found a shower of CD cases, flying from a display carousel, and a large figure tumbling after them.

Jesus! If only Guy had bought the book straightaway. ⇐ ⇒