Possibly the only reason why she had the parrot was because of the threat of incipient terrorist attack, either that or she felt she needed some kind of post-feminist critique of her pastry-making technique and – after all – it was a female parrot and it had tenure at one of the more prestigious French universities during the period in question.
However, transporting a parrot on the back of a moped through some of the busiest thoroughfares of a major French metropolis is not a matter for the neophyte, especially if that neophyte is wearing a skirt of such shortness as to distract the taxi drivers from their business, no matter how diligent they usually are.
After all, we know taxi drivers the world over are not the sort to compromise their professionalism by leaning out of their open car windows to express their opinion on the suitability or otherwise of an attractive young lady’s mode of dress, even if she is accompanied on her excursions by an extremely voluble avian companion and one – furthermore – not disinclined to share its more robust opinions with any interlocutor on the urban thoroughfare.
Anyway, the resulting pile-up was the reason why I was late for our meeting at the café, and why there was an errant parrot feather stuck to my trousers….
Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
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