Every evening this gentleman sat on the feathery tree just outside our villa, and sang and sang and sang. He had an amazing liquid voice and endless variations to his song. Mozart, eat your heart out.
Hub and I were sitting on the swinging seat one day, listening to him. Hub said he wanted to go and get a drink. He didn’t move.
‘thought you wanted a drink?’ I said.
‘I do’, said he. ‘But I don’t want to interrupt him.’