It’s been a busy week, and this morning I started work at 7.30, so there was no guilt at all about being in the pub, and on at least my second pint, by half past four. It was a little too early to get started on the shots…. OK, maybe I had one. But someone else bought it for me.
I can see no explanation for the burst of feathers on the neck of this pigeon than it has recently had an extremely close encounter with some kind of ballistic missile — a piece of shot, an air rifle pellet — not unlike (in pigeon terms) one of those stories where a WW1 trenches veteran got his cigarette case taken neatly out but he survived. Or Steve Buscemi’s character in Fargo (if you’ve seen it, you know). I apologise to the paid-up members of the Society Avoiding Cruelty to Pigeons on behalf of the perpetrator, but I didn’t do it, honestly, I’m just documenting.
