"The nub of the problem is," said Oscar, pausing for effect and glaring a warning at Maureen in case she dared to interrupt, "that men are from planet Earth and so are women! And they'd better get used to that fact!"

"So..." eventually responded the lady. She allowed the ghost of a smile to soften her expression from what might otherwise have been condescension. "What's the point you're making? I thought we were here to discuss co-operation."

"Yes, we are," chipped in Sam, before Oscar could dig himself any deeper into the philosophical hole he had begun to excavate. "The Granary and The Jampot: two theatres operating in concert with each other to the benefit of our community."

"Indeed!" grunted Oscar. (He had a tendency to become abrupt whenever trapped within his own pomposity.) "Precisely!" (I had noticed this in his rehearsals.)

The three of them - Sam, Oscar and Maureen Pugh (current Chairman of the Malcaster Players, who occupy the Granary Theatre) - were sitting at one of the tables arranged around the Granary's bar area. Most of these tables are moved out during performances, but this was a Saturday morning, well before the members brought guests in for coffee and cream cakes during their shopping expeditions. Traditionally, it was a time when important business was transacted, productions provisionally cast, stage crews appointed and all sorts of design and promotional ideas discussed. It's one of my favourite times, when Penny and any owlets we might have in our nest are all tucked up, snug and sleeping, up above us among the ivy that grows under the eaves. It's when I creep out of the nest and into the air-conditioning ducts, through which I can make my way to any part of the theatre and hide behind the grills over the outlets. Nobody knows how much I see and hear, but I could tell some stories alright.

My friend Rollo, the bar steward, was busy behind the bar, brewing the coffee, arranging the cakes and sandwiches in their hygienic containers, polishing glasses and so on, but not disturbing the bottles or going down to see to the barrels in the cellar, because he was pretending not to listen to the conversation. Rollo and I are about the same build, short and rotund, but he's much bigger then me of course, not being an owl. Also, he wears little gold-rimmed spectacles that glint in the bar-lights, as does the skin where his head has grown right through his former tonsure. I like Rollo a lot.

The only other people present at such an early hour were Bruce and Edna, the two galahs in their cage that stands against the wall on the end of the bar, but Rollo had had the good sense to leave their black velvet sleeping cloth draped over the cage. The two of them are too thick to work out that, by this devise, the quackers can kid them it's night-time whenever they want to. When the cloth is off, those two idiots chatter and squawk to each other - incessantly. It was Cara who made the cloth for them.

"As I see it," continued Sam, "there exists no need whatsoever for any sort of conflict between our two theatres."

"Agreed," said Maureen. "Agreed wholeheartedly. but when you say 'our' two theatres, how are you using the possessive pronoun? Do you mean the two theatres that serve our community, Malcaster in general, or do you mean the two theatres owned by yourself and Oscar?"

"The former," affirmed Sam. "Although, I must make it clear that..."

"I own neither of them," interjected Oscar. "Sam owns The Jampot, which is his home as well as being a theatre, while the Granary is owned by Ariel Properties Ltd., a company of which Sam and I are both no more than directors."

"And you have our word," said Sam, "that it will never be our intention to interfere with the operation of Malcaster Players, or to displace it's occupancy. Furthermore, the rent payable by Malcaster Players will always be the minimum we need to maintain the place in good order without actually losing money."

"Although..." ventured Oscar. "The Management Committee may be well advised to consider renting the theatre out to visiting theatre groups - either local societies who do not have their own theatre or touring professional companies - and local firms for..."

"...conferences and demonstrations." Maureen was well ahead of their thinking. "Yes, we had already decided to generate as much income as possible without eroding our standards or disrupting our own rehearsals and presentations - performances."

"Standards?" asked Sam. Maureen knew instantly where he was heading.

"Any exclusivity implied by my use of that word refers to artistic standards, an ability to communicate with our audience... (Shall we call it 'Shakespeare's Audience'?) ...and our lust for perfection in our exercise of all aspects of theatrecraft."

She said it all in measured tones, so calmly. With my ability to read thoughts, I was immensely amused by her enjoyment of their vacant expressions. Their dropped jaws and staring eyes that indicated the vacuous condition beyond in their skulls.

She really was a brilliant example of quackers' feminine superiority.

She used their inarticulacy to mount a new offensive. "Perhaps you are willing to describe how you see the inter-theatre relationship developing."

Rollo caught himself smiling. Sam was the first man to recover.

"As a complement and support to whatever you are doing here," he said.

"You realise," snapped Oscar, "that we are riding high on a wave of success. Our production of 'Your Faithful Servants' has earned critical acclaim and is playing to full houses - audiences comprised of ALL elements of Malcaster society..."

"What a triumph!" enthused Maureen. "And of course the Granary shares your satisfaction, as well it should. After all, the production was developed here. Even its set was constructed by our members..."

"And we are extremely grateful," said Sam. "Please let me know if you incurred any expense in any way to achieve this."

"In fact," added Oscar, "your constructors were most appreciative of the workshop facilities we afford at The Jampot. You will of course be welcome to build sets there in the future. Incidentally, how is 'Treasure Island' progressing?"

"And our constructors are delighted to work there," said Maureen. "Apart from anything else, they have always expressed their appreciation for your neighbours, the rugby club and wished their home games could be played on evenings under floodlight, instead of on Saturday afternoons when the lads are busy in their salon."

"Not a lot we can do about that," said Oscar. "Although I must say I've seen them hanging around the scene-dock door admiring the view when the chaps are in training."

"Yes, it's their scrum-down technique that they admire so much," said Maureen. "All the biggest, most muscley men in little shorts, wrapping their arms around each other, then bending to strain sweatingly against each other..."

"Yes, we get the point," grunted Oscar. "Although, I don't imagine that the Malcaster fly-half ever saw himself as a gay ikon. Now, where we?"

"In complete agreement, as I see it," breezed Maureen, "I'll be happy to report our conversation back to the Management Committee and send you a copy of the minutes for your approval. Now, can we rely on the continued services of your parrots?"

"Our galahs?" queried Oscar. "Of course you can. It's never been in doubt."

"Well..." frowned Maureen. "What with Cara being so busy with 'Your Faithful Servants'... our Wardrobe ladies have been concerned..."

"They've NOTHING to worry about," spluttered Oscar. "Neither have you, or the production team for 'Treasure Island'. These matters has never been in doubt."

"Oh yes they have," said Maureen. "For some of our members, they have."

Sam and Oscar exchanged glances of weary resignation.

"Gwyneth?" they asked.

"And her lobby," confirmed Maureen. "I predict that her next target will be your narrow-boat, moored outside the theatre and drawing its power from our supply."

"I'll move 'Playmaker' back to her rented mooring today," said Oscar. "Anything else?" 

"And the owls that nest in the ivy."

"Jonah and Penny?" Oscar was almost breathless with amazement.

"What on earth is her complaint about them?" asked Sam.

"Droppings, pellets and assorted descending detritus. Hell hath no fury, Sam."

"RIGHT!" exploded Oscar. "Thus far and no further! We'll accommodate their every wish in the interests of peace and good Theatre, but the owls stay put!"

I was shuffling uneasily in my hidey-hole as the scene below unfolded, but now - coincidentally - Rollo whisked the cloth off the parrots' cage and they started immediately with their "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" with no intention of stopping.

At the table, Oscar could be seen on his feet, glowering down at Maureen.

"THE OWLS STAY!!" he roared, before spinning round to stump off and remove his boat from where it had been moored so happily through most of the dying year.

Sam quietly asked, "How do they propose to remove the owls?"

"Trap them and take them to the Hawk Conservancy at Andover," said Maureen.

Rollo glanced up at where he knew I would be crouched, listening.

He just winked at me, but I turned my back and waddled away to our nest.

Clearly it was time for Penny and I to make alternative arrangements.

The season of peace on earth was over. From now on, only the set-constructors could be relied on to dispense good will to all men.

Jonah was a very experience director, teacher and writer who sadly passed away in February 2006. He was also the author of the highly successful "Playmaker - The Craft of Directing Plays (The Way I Seen It)".