Not about birds...

...about London, in fact. SW1 to be precise, and a flying visit to an old stomping ground last night for a social event. I was twitching the leaving do of one of the bright young things I used to work with in the Westminster village who is emigrating to Ethiopia, as you do. Living in Dorset it's easy to forget about things like not getting a seat on public transport, persons under trains, the complete lack of sympathy for persons under trains, and the sheer bustling energy of a population with an average age under 50. 'I didn't want a Travelcard, mate' I said to the man at the ticket office when he asked for £4 to go one stop on the Underground. He looked at me with one of those 'We don't tolerate abuse of our staff so if you don't want to wake up in Guantanamo Bay with the radio set to static, move on' looks. They say if you're tired of London you're tired of life. Well I must be among the undead then: a couple of hours of it and I was exhausted.