At question time, the sparrows ask about hedges. Where did they go? they ask. Why all those walls and railings? Once, the little guys were the byword for ordinary, the epitome of everyspecies – if Edwin’s counsellor had plucked a metaphorical capercaillie from the rare air of imagination, for instance, interpretation would have been much more complex and less universally applicable – but now they’re the unwilling poster birds for a crisis in domestic biodiversity. Where are the aphids? they ask. What happened to all those small insects? The Chair of The Committee – a rotund gentleman with red cheeks, a clipped goatee, and an offshore bank account currently under investigation – offers sincere apologies bur, but, but … he spreads his hands like a tarmacked car port and turns his face to the empty sky. No more questions, he says, in a voice like fine particulate matter and nitrogen dioxide. No more questions.
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
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