pigeon feathers

A brief aside. Granny and Beloved went out to lunch today to their local tapas bar. No, not your tourist heaven, the real thing, the place where the truck drivers go. As usual there were two concrete mixers sitting outside, their oversize bellies turning and grinding. Inside, along with the drivers, sitting up at the bar, was the man in the hat, the one Granny and Beloved voted for vainly in the local election a whole ten days ago. The faces on the lamp-post have now all vanished. But here was the real thing, the alternative local, along with two alternative acolytes, wearing the t-shirts to prove it. And wearing baseball caps with pigeon feathers stuck into them; just what every town council needs among its members. Granny is not the least regretful about having voted for this lot. She just wishes that one of them, alternative ideas and all - DON'T WRECK THE ISLAND the main one - had got in.