The blackbird on our fence is protesting freely across several keys about excess competition in this morning's song contest while the starlings are grouching about the lack of sun catching their petrol green plumage and the invisibility of chimney tops in a beauty contest world. Children pout and slouch on their schoolbag daily trail, about the fickleness of weekends, Sunday's fleet timidity in the face of Monday mornings. From this year on their parents, too busy pulling rabbits from hats to notice Machiavellian tricks, can say hello to prison walls if they ever protest again. Harry Gallagher