Privatisation of public space

We live on a lane which changes from rat-race to no-go area at the whim of a well-known Antibes restauranteur, who employs suited gorillas to enforce his dictats. Woe betide anybody who dares to ask where, and for how long, the official notice of closure has been displayed. That's the way things happen down here.

This week is the perfect closure (think 'perfect storm'), as the antiques sellers have occupied most of the boulevard d'Aguillon and most of the car park near the Harbourmaster's Office; the Antibes Yacht Show has declared out of bounds the south side of the Port Vauban; and on Thursday the market stallholders will invade the area next to the post office with their white vans. And this comes at the usual Easter moment when all the cafés and restaurants begin to encroach abusively on the pavements, beyond their allotted tolerance zone, leaving little room for pedestrians between the abusively parked cars, scooters and motorbikes and the ever-present dog-turds.

Suddenly, as spring arrives, Antibes runs out of elbow-room...

ça y est

That's it! Madame Tourterelle has eaten from my hand without holding on to the railings of the balcony. A jump onto my fingers of at least 60cm. She must have been desperate.

My calculations were different. Once she was supported in my hand, exclusively, I had a chance to weigh her (minus the rice in my palm). Another couple of months of avian-human contact and she will be ready for a pie. Pigeon or turtle dove, disnae matter...

Only joking. The feeling of having a wild animal trust you totally is absolutely addictive. And when she pecks between your fingers, looking for that last grain of (discount) rice, you feel that your place in the world is really necessary. Wish it was the same with the genus homo sapiens.