Jeb's wife wouldn't stop feeding the blasted pigeons.
The vile critters flutter about his feet.
They peck carelessly at his loafers.
Crumbs tumble liberally from his wife's palms.
Jeb sighs with relief as the final crust is dumped.
He sits back and slurps on some Merlot.
Suddenly his wife pipes up.
Sends him to Tesco for a new loaf.
And he can't believe his legs are carrying him there.

I sat on a bench in Regent's Park, the flowery bit. I observed. This is a slice of life.