In the immediate aftermath of the collision I swore a bit – the usual expletives – and then, when I realised there was no lasting damage, I got on with my life.
There was a time when we had a small image of a bird on the glass, stopping anybody from mistaking a closed patio door for an open one. But that bird flew off a long time ago and it was never replaced – more's the pity.
In truth there's little much more to say about this. Shit happens; and there's still no bird in place, so it's likely to happen again.
A few weeks ago, while pottering around the house, I heard the sound of something colliding with glass. It was a pigeon hitting the kitchen window. Pigeons often fly into our windows and somehow I don't think the addition of a bird image placed dead centre on all the windows would prevent this from happening.
The pigeon made much more of a drama out of the whole thing than I did. While it didn't waddle around the garden dazed and confused and swearing profusely (nor did I incidentally) it did leave an image of itself on the window – feathers and all. In a way it was quite funny. Like when cartoon characters crash through windows or brick walls and leave their shapes behind them.
When I was a kid I remember lying in bed during the summer when it was still bright outside, but we kids had to be in bed. It was always odd hitting the sack during daylight hours when dad had yet to come home from work, but rules were rules and, as I'd try to nod off, taking in the colourful and mildly surreal mural of a village scene that adorned the walls of the bedroom I shared with Jon, my brother, I could hear the wood pigeons outside calling to their pals, possibly warning them not to fly into any windows or patio doors.
|What a great programme!|