There was a wood pigeon cooing from the neighbour's rooftop this morning, and I turned off the radio and flung the window wide open to listen to it. Wood pigeon calls always remind me of Hans Christian Anderson fairytales - The Last Dream of the Old Oak or The Little Robber Girl. I know pigeons are everywhere in London, but somehow their coo is completely transporting. For a moment or two I'm not in our flat in Shepherds Bush, I'm in a stone cottage deep in an enchanted wood somewhere.
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