There was a pigeon today that was hanging about underneath the bird table at the house where I was working. It didn't behave like a wild bird and had rings on its legs.
Mr C. said "That's a racing pigeon that's got lost, if it arrives home late now, they'll just wring its neck because it's no use."
"Is that right?"
"Yeah, we used to get them stopping on the rigs."
So I was just standing watching it walking about in the pouring rain cocking its head to one side, looking a bit forlorn.
And I thought I wonder what the Iconic Woman's doing right now?
Couldn't we just meet for ice cream and coffee at Vissochi's some time and talk rubbish or whatever sixteen year olds are meant to do?
The answer is, probably not, it's just not practical at age forty-seven, especially when you're happily married with three kids and a mortgage, we're all supposed to be grown up now and know where we're going.
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