As I was walking down Deansgate to the cinema this evening (Son of Rambow; very good, go and see it, you’ll like it), I saw a pigeon very nearly fly into a young lady’s face. She was naturally a little shocked and taken aback by this, but by the time she had recovered sufficiently to remonstrate with the beast, it had flown off and disappeared. And so, fuming but without a target for her anger, she instead located the nearest other pigeon to her on the pavement and shouted a torrent of unfocused abuse at it instead, presumably on the understanding that it could maybe pass on her complaints to the offending bird should they happen upon each other later in the day. Then, satisfied, she adjusted her coat and proceeded on down Deansgate, as if nothing had ever happened.

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