Recently I have been exploring the possibilities of cramming a story about birds into space made inside old books to try to get across the sense I have of birds living with us yet inhabiting their own world. Stories belong in books, and books should be old, cloth bound, well-thumbed and beautiful. The books I use are about to be sent to landfill or I rescue them from boot-sales and charity shops, and generally those that have had print runs in their millions. I fill them with birds and dogs made from paper, old wellies, cocktail sticks, sweet-wrappers, old gardening magazines and pages from other discarded books. I’m still not all that comfortable about cutting up a book but it’s better than seeing them thrown away.
Along with the birds in my books you will occasionally find a small, flowery person. This is Polly. She used to live inside my head but increasingly she is telling her own stories. She has some very odd ideas about birds.