Though not in a retro 1960's kitsch philandering way. Oh no. I mean real, honest to goodness, Hitchcock inspired, avian type, feathered friends. Two specific individuals to be precise.
Permit me to ellucidate.
The lanes leading to Ambridge are now firmly in the grip of Persephone. Hedges hitherto brown and stick-y have burst into a varihued emerald filligree. Trees of the proper sort (note botany is not one of Dr J's strong suits here) are busy wrapping themselves in pink or white candyfloss. Bluebells tinkle in the woods and Daffodils and Tulips nod their stately heads in the gentle morning breeze.
Indeed, since HMG so callously nicked an hours kip from us a week or two back, the usual morning drive has taken place to a backdrop of golden skies tastefully underlit by the newrisen sun. God is in his (or her) heaven, and all's very right with the increasingly warmer world. This also appears to be having an effect on the behavior of Borsetshire's avian inhabitants. At least on the basis of this morning's events.
And no I don't mean that behaviour, this isn't that sort of blog you know.
Scene 1 (a lane on the outskirts of Ambridge- a quaint English village. 08.03. In dappled sunshine) The big red bus sweeps gracefully round a languid left bend to be confronted by a cock pheasant. The aforesaid pheaseant is standing tall, owning the left hand side of the road. Stood in profile its black beady eye, surrounded by a piratical flash of red, fixes our hero with a look redolent of Saturday Night Chucking Out Time. "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough" it declaims to the world at large and our protagonist in particular.
Ungentlemanly language can be heard as the big red bus swerves sharply to the right and away from the Pheasant's revolt.
Scene 2 ( the same lane, a little further on, past the crossroads and just along from the pub. 08.11. More dappled sunshine) the big red bus negotiates the crossroads with unaccustomed grace and elegance, instead of the normal ten minutes queueing and chuntering- Ambridge School is closed for the Easter Hol's- and glides on down the hill to the hollow, slowing and dropping in to third for the tight right hander at the botom of the dip. Taking the corner with the applomb of a rally driver at the height of his powers our hero is again confronted by an aggressive avian encounter.
This time he is mooned by a lady mallard.
Fade out to the sound of near hysterical laughter from within the big red bus....