The Habits Of Bird Watchers

Rosie has re-entered the Herriot Museum, leaving Arthur outside.

You again, says the manager to Rosie. I thought I'd made it clear......

To Arthur, says Rosie. He's my right hand man, but his accident with the bottle was nothing to do with me.

Perhaps I over-reacted, says the manager. It was our last bottle of Hoose Mixture. Welcome back. I'm Phil Bustard. And you...?

Rosamunda Secunda, says Rosie.

I'm a natural historian, she adds.

Are you indeed? says Phil Bustard. Should I know you?

Perhaps, says Rosamunda. I've been published. I've recently written a treatise on..... errr.... Twitchers, which was quite well received.

Twitchers! says Phil Bustard.  But Twitchers are bird watchers.

Yes they are, says Rosamunda. Bird watchers. Strange animals. They watch them and then they catch them and eat them. But my most recent interest is the blobfish.

You are in the wrong place, says Phil Bustard.

I realise that, says Rosamunda. I'm just passing through.

I could show you around, says Phil Bustard. Would you like that? The Yorkshire Moors are beautiful this time of year. The heather is flowering, and the autumn gentians. And of course you like birds....

Birds, says Rosamunda. Oh yes, birds. But no thank you. We don't have time. Arthur is in a hurry. However, you could do me a favour.

What is it? says Phil Bustard.

Would you take a photo of me with my arm up the cow's bottom? says Rosamunda. Arthur wouldn't.

Certainly, says Phil. Happy to oblige. Give me your phone. Oh dear, looks like it needs charging!

Damn! says Rosamunda. I bet Arthur's does as well. Where can we recharge them?

You can plug them in here, says Phil Bustard. Go and get his. But don't bring him back inside.

Rosamunda goes outside to find Arthur who is sitting astride his bicycle, looking moody.

That went well, she says. Give me your phone.