A dove called Pierre

The late sun was hot and its setting over the Baie des Anges a picture of vivid yellows, blues and pinks, the sea a palette of royal and light blue and we enjoyed a glass of champagne to celebrate the promotion of Brighton and victory of Fulham.

An idyll except we became increasingly concerned by the no show of Pierre, the collared dove, who drops in every evening around 6pm to partake of pistachios.

We began to fear the worst but at 7-20 with a flutter and squawk to announce himself was our beloved Pierre. He was not quite himself, normally he will strut around the table, chest puffed out, head bobbing, but no matter.

I speculated what would happen to his feeding once I left. To much to hope for that the next tenants would give him pistachios. Would he return next year? We shall miss him so.