It's 10am on a Bank Holiday Monday and with recent events, my mood's a bit uncertain. Then the doorbell rings. It's probably God-botherers, so I was gearing up for a bit of grumpy 'no thankyou' but my flatmate managed to get to the door first. Seems there's some incident going on down the road, and this team of window cleaners are trapped and can't get their vans out because of it. So, the enterprising head cleaner (!) decided to knock on some doors to see if they could do a bit of work while they're here. Hurrah - we're getting our windows done.
As P was making his way back up the stairwell to our flat, something caught his eye. A small bird had got caught between the window and the net curtains (ain't we posh) and was flapping away energetically. My childhood obsession with ornithology identified it as a great tit.
So, as I came to terms with the concept of being distracted by a bird first thing in the morning, Paul cupped his hands around the tit and I opened the window so he could gently usher the bird out.
I wonder how common that experience has been around the UK this weekend...
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