Was that a pigeon ?

The bus swoops down green lanes like a swift .

Its not that swift though as it detours to various villages on the way .
It's been a revelation this temporary bus / train travel .
The conversations you hear .
Plus I  thought the twice weekly trip out of the village to shop was over . I had sort of assumed that people were not so anchored in the village for most of the week as they always used to be . By no means is this true .

We went to see some Eric Ravilious , eat a brunch , buy a few treats in the second hand book shop . A stroll round the market and then onto the sequestered garden .

A maze , scented old roses , some Victorian hot houses and lots of hidden green corners with benches .

We sit on a bench drinking icy , very lemony lemonade .We look at our book finds . I read out a good bit and am stopped in my tracks .

Somebody lets out a loud raucous fart . The saxophonist and I raise our eyebrows at one another in surprise .
Then the saxophonist says " was that a pigeon ?

I reflect that unlikely remarks are not restricted to random bus passengers .