6 May 2005
Paul wasn’t overly mangled. My car was just fine. It had all occurred because I am an animal lover who had stopped at a junction to let a couple of, either very arrogant or awfully stupid, pigeons decide if they wanted to move out of my way or die squished. I was berating them verbally with such scathing remarks as ,”You know that I am officially higher in the food chain than you so you’d best flap off if you know what’s good for ya!” and gesturing wildly with my hands in an attempt to move them along, such movements which Paul, standing on the kerb and waiting to cross, must have mistaken for a signal that I was allowing him to cross the road before I drove on. He can’t have seen the brace of pigeons at his feet nor realise that it was at them and not him I was signalling because just as they walked to one side of my car he alighted from the kerb and directly into the path of my accelerating vehicle. Then there was a bang on my bonnet as his head bounced off it and then a dull wet smack as he hit the tarmac, limp. Then the oranges started rolling and the screaming began.
I was late for work. Paul is just late. The police have called it Involuntary Manslaughter. I blame it all on the effing pigeons. True story. Most of it.