The Days of Christmas (Part Four)

Day Four. We’ve done the nailed-on Partridge, the peroxide-modified turtle doves and the really-French French hens (see previous episodes). We’ve also eaten too much turkey, drunk too much wine, listened to the Queen (fell asleep, actually) and we’re drowning in the torn strips of wrapping paper. Now there’s a problem. What the f*ck are the Day Four words and what do they mean?

A brief review of history is required. The 1780 version of the epic quest named ‘four colly birds’. No one south of Watford knew that the word meant ‘black’. As a result, later printed versions in the eighteen hundreds suggested ‘canary birds’, ‘colour’d birds’, ‘curley birds’, and ‘corley birds’ in its place. By 1909, when Austin produced his definitive version of the song, the black birds had become ‘calling birds’. No one knows what this means either. After all, most birds have distinctive calls. Saying ‘a calling bird’ is a bit like saying, ‘a man speaking a language’.

So here’s the problem in a nutshell: there’s a bit of a difference between a raven and a canary, and both of them ‘call’. The raven might seem more historically accurate, but you can buy canaries at pet shops, so there was a temptation to be lazy here and, I confess, my conscience was conflicted. Going up the road to Pets-R-Us for a canary didn’t seem like it kept up the standard of romantic gestures that my previous exploits as a mortician, dove colourist and international animal smuggler had set.

Then I realised: ‘Corley Birds’ was an optional interpretation. Genius! Genius because – yes, of course – Corley is a world famous service station on the M6. What if I took a drive, enjoyed a chocolate croissant and grande machiatto in the on-site Starbucks, then caught a few local birds with my butterfly net…

… And that, your honour, is what I was doing when the cops showed up in their jam sandwich and caught me pursuing a dazed robin across the lorry park.

P.S. Starbucks also do a seeded breakfast bar that you can crumble into little bits between your fingers. Half starved birds who have forgotten to migrate absolutely love it.