Not that long ago, my wonderful children and I were off to the nearest train station. They were off to catch a train to Wiltshire to see one of their grandparents. I don't go to Wiltshire unless under cover of darkness and preferably in a fast moving vehicle. I still don't trust the coppers there. Prone to the annual Hippie Cull they were. And did you know it's illegal not to eat a pork pie every 60 minutes in Wiltshire. They still have the stocks and angry crowds of ill mannered wurzels turn up in their thousands to hurl soggy, mouldy vegetables at anybody who doesn't have pig in aspic stuck between their teeth and traces of greasy pastry on their smock.
However, on the way to the station, there was a bird. This bird was right in front of us, bang smack in the middle of the pavement if you please. And it was very still. It's one of those sorts of birds which you periodically see stationary, because it's stone cold dead. Not just a bit dead mind you, absolutely horror show, intestines out sort of dead.
There are many cats in our area, and parked cars often afford them an excellent sculking or hiding place from which to pounce upon their prey. On this occasion, the unsuspecting bird, probably humming a crisp tune to itself, was stalked and done in.
So feast your mince on it's last attempt at modelling for the camera, immortalised as long as this hard drive and blog keep a-rollin' on. I hope it didn't suffer.
