«One evening in a not so fashionable taverna, a young Chinaman came in with his merchandise displayed on a wooden tray hanging from a strap round his neck. A host of trinkety things were glinting on there, both weird and not so strange. My eye was caught by some cheap-looking little red plaster birds. Each of them was standing on a plastic tree trunk, without even a dry leaf to indicate that there were better times. At the end of the trunk there was a little button, like a protruding knot. You pressed it and the bird sang. I quickly grabbed three, as if there was a fear they’d fly away. I didn’t ask how much each cost, and didn’t ask for ...
