FOUR
TWEET, TWEET, IN LONDON’S STWEETS
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. Well, not ordinarily, but occasionally in the square. More regularly it would tweet in a Salon du Coiffeur in a back street off the square. Well, not a nightingale, but a hairdresser and a not particularly tuneful or lyrical one, either. But he was, no doubt, a famous bird. And, when after work he walked to his Mayfair Club, he would walk, or mince might be a more accurate description, birdlike and tweet tunelessly as he stepped in a light-footed manner through Berkeley Square. Very often this would be to the annoyance of many who were partaking of a casual moment within the beautiful gardens, as the heat of the day’s late-summer sun cooled to make it a most tolerable and pleasant experience. Some picnicked wit
