There’s thrush in Marjorie’s bush.

I was a little surprised to see Ali in my garden this morning, spying over the fence in Marjorie’s direction, looking through an enormous pair of binoculars. Now, you’ll remember Marjorie is Amanda’s lover.

It’s very cold at this time of year and much of the wildlife of the garden retreats into the foliage where it’s warmer. Ali takes a keen interest in such things.

I quietly crept up beside Ali and tried to see what he was looking at so intently.

“What on earth are you looking at, Ali?” I asked quietly, pulling my robe tightly around my body.

“It’s Marjorie’s pussy,” he whispered back.

A moment later Marjorie’s back door swung out and she came striding across the garden towards us, her impressive physique sailing toward us like a battle ship with sixteen inch guns primed and being brought to bare directly at Ali.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed across her thinly veiled breasts and looking like thunder.

“I was watching your pussy,” said Ali.

Thinking I’d better diffuse the situation before the chill air exposed any of us further I invited Marjorie in for a cup of tea, and Ali joined us in the kitchen.