He got a shiny new fuel filter (and it really is shiny; the
old one was black) in the hope that it will cure him of his predilection for
wayward revving. He behaved perfectly on the 30-mile drive home (not counting
the interruption to buy coffee, beer and chocolate biscuits from the cheap
shop, about which more later,) but that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.
Time will tell.
I got a tail feather from a cock pheasant (by which I don’t
mean a cock pheasant gave it to me; read on.) I found it when I walked back
through the little wood at the top of the lane this evening. I hadn’t seen it
when I passed through the other way, but it was there, plain as a pike staff,
on my return. Now, I’ve long held the nagging suspicion that errant feathers
are gifts from the fey, and that was the wood where I saw the mysterious dark
shape cross the path last autumn (in full daylight and a good twelve hours on
from the last drop of alcohol.) And a cock pheasant’s tail feather is a
splendid thing, being around 2ft long with a pattern of brown and cream bars,
so now I have to think of something to take in return.
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