Here we go...

For a pigeon of his age, two, single, he has, to his mind, solved the problem of flirtation rather well. On Thursday afternoons, he flies to Newtown. Punctually at 5 p.m. he perks on the curb of Rissik and President Street, coos, and winks. Waiting for him at the traffic lights are his admirers. Winking. Alas, no matter how much he struts and puffs up his feathers, the indicating cars always turn and leave him. Alone. Ruddy cock-teasers. But this isn’t (but might, in fact, at some point, be) a story about a pigeon looking for a pomp - it’s the story of the person driving home who just happened to be looking out of the window.