Spring, birds.

Yesterday: Forced out of bed by a huge racket coming outside our kitchen window, I see that it is two plump pigeons, mating. One of them is loud, like it's really enjoying itself. They sound like people. Pretty soon I hear my neighbours fretting upstairs and to the left of me, and I let them think it's me.

Then the pigeon moaning gets ridiculous and the neighbours are now starting to talk. Going back to the kitchen, I rattle on the window to chase them away.

And I see they've started to weave some twigs together in the nook between the wall and the air-con.

Later, on the phone:

"Which husband and wife?" Hooman says.

"The husband and wife pigeons," I say, for the second time.

"Indians?" he says.

"Pigeons," I repeat. The man in the seat in front stirs a little.

"Are you on the bus? I can't hear you."

"I said the husband and wife pigeons," I say, a little louder. The man in front turns around for a quick look, is unimpressed, and turns back to his newspaper.

"Oh. The husband and wife pigeons," he says. "They're back?"

"Yeah."

Anyway, that was the prelude to my savage window rattling this morning. We'll see about tomorrow.