With its last flicker of consciousness the burst pigeon lying on the approach road to the fast food restaurant drive-thru saw the operator of the car that had taken its life take delivery of a McChicken sandwich, medium fries and large coke and by some ineffable cosmic coincidence said pigeon had alighted exactly six months ago on the roof of a battery farm in Dumfriesshire, glanced through the skylight at the roiling horde below and caught the eye of one of its contorted cousins and yes it was the very bird whose succulent breast was delivered up to the driver of the car that . . . well you know the rest.
Later that evening the driver of the car, one Thomas McCorquodale, arrived at his girlfriends flat in a foul mood due to indigestion (unbeknownst to him he was nursing a sizeable collection of malignant cells in the lining of his stomach and had nine months left to live dying just as.. well read on). His girlfriend, Carol Houston, although exhausted from working a long shift at the local maternity hospital, had slipped into a recently purchased outfit that served to show off her gym-toned body to fullest advantage and then some. She needed a baby and knew that her boyfriends piddling little libido wanted emergency resuscitation. Opening the door to him wearing next to nothing happened to coincide with her neighbour Jenna Wright leaving her flat for a night out. Jenna, who had been harbouring a crush on Carol for more than a year, went bright red dropped her keys and in bending down to retrieve them smacked her head off the protruding broken bannister that had lain unfixed for six months. By chance a tiny Money Spider living in the broken rail drowned in her blood. As Thomas and Carol tried to resuscitate the unconscious Jenna another spider, a False Widow this time, was dislodged from the doorframe of Jenna’s flat, falling onto Thomas’s neck. The spider had arrived in the close eight weeks ago via delivery of Jenna’s weekly organic veg box made its way to a comfortable spot near the light-fitting and had subsequently got very fat on a diet of juicy moths. False Widows rarely bite but when they do it is usually harmless. In this case, in conjunction with Thomas’s depleted immune system, the bite turned septic and he was hospitalised two days later and never left, although not before he and Carol had made love and subsequently made a baby. The baby, Tania, would never know her real father. She would however know her mothers new partner Jenna who moved next door whilst Thomas was breathing his last…
The owner and operator of the company that delivered the organic veg box, Jerry Clooney had, due to financial troubles, been inveigled by a crooked employee called John Archibald into using a far-flung part of his farm to grow Cannabis. The Cannabis farm looked on to the adjacent battery farm where our doomed pigeon had eyed-up our equally doomed chicken. We are all doomed was a favourite saying of John Archibald, cribbed from a character called Private Fraser in classic BBC comedy Dad’s Army. John Laurie, who played Fraser was born in nearby Maxwelltown and after his death his ashes were scattered at sea. By a peculiar chance (ha!) his ashes mostly fell onto the back of a passing Lesser Black-backed Gull which nested near to the battery farm, getting fat from the contents of a skip used to dispose of left-over chicken bits.
One night, whilst tripping on some particularly strong skunk, John Archibald hallucinated the head of Private Fraser intoning – ‘we’re a’ doomed!’ – at the end of his sofa. He got such a fright that he leaped off the sofa and accidentally look just stop it ok! Fucking stop it I said! But what about Tania? And the guy who served up the McSandwich? And John Laurie’s wife Oona? And the rat that lived under the skip? And Jenna’s ex-girlfriend? They need to live too you know!