Our trusty wood pigeon, recognisable because he would always sit – slightly aloof like a lieutenant – in the same place on a brick wall, has passed away and was found, almost untouched, under the limes. Untouched apart from a slight ruffle of feathers below the neck, so we assume a sparrowhawk must have swept by. It didn’t make a prefect kill but caused enough damage to put the poor pigeon to sleep. So now it has been buried in the autumn leaves and will soon be turning into… wait for it… mouldy old dough! (Remember that honky-tonk sing-along song?).