The zen of Saturday breakfast, with bird

It's Saturday. Since our adoption of the bird I have gotten into the routine of uncovering his cage, going to the kitchen and making a coffee, then returning to our sitting room to have a catch-up of the news.  

Sometimes on the TV but mainly through the quiet tap of my phone, reading the depressing lines from the broadsheets in electronic form or relying on Google to pick out the seemingly random items for my feed.

During this review of the world, three things happen, first I'm aware on sitting down that the room is warmer than the rest of the flat (the oil radiator that we leave on the "*" spoke of the dial for the bird explains that - after all our personal logic tells us, he's from northern Australia and must need the extra degree or so in the middle of our Winter, it's also not unusual for one of us to wake in the night if it feels extra cold to turn it up a notch), secondly the birds outside with their morning song and finally the shuffling in the cage as Alfie wakes up properly and decides that company with one of his humans is due and will come out of his cage, make a few short chirping sounds to warn me he's coming and a wing stroke or two later is happily on my head and roosting.

I go back to reading, Alfie sometimes tweets if something particularly colourful appears on my screen, but that's how we stay for an hour or so.

It's when I start swearing or making loud Humpf noises at the government's approach to Covid, no 10 parties, or general post brexit activities that the zen like peace is disturbed.  Alfie then moves to my shoulder and pecks my ear or starts snuggling into my neck in an attempt to bring me back. 

It works, everyone should have a bird when reading the news.