| Sunday, July 27, 2003 |
 | Right. Ducks. I was off to the pub after work with some colleagues (and this is a getting on for a fortnight ago now - what it is to have a proper job) when, mirabile dictu, we saw a line of ducks wandering along a road tucked just behind Vauxhall Bridge. More precisely, a mother duck and a string of ducklings. Ducklings are cuteness fuel-air bombs, and for a moment I was simply transfixed by how sweet they look. This is surely not an effective defence mechanism. Certainly, it might not be said to be car-proof, and things looked a little bleak.
But, driven on by the sheer loveliness of the tiny cluckers, London sprang into action to defend them. Somebody blocked the road with their car to prevent oncoming traffic pizzaing them, and somebody else , in a triumph for the formal office, used his suit jacket as an impromptu toreador's cape, sweeping the rather disgruntled mother duck away from her chosen path (smack into one of the busiest roads in London) and up a sidestreet, where I called the RSPCA on my mobile. I've never seen such a spontaneous coming-together of basic decency in all my years in the big city, and I rather feel that these same people would have stepped over a tramp unconscious in the gutter, but it's a start.
On the way back from the pub we passed the same way - the ducks appeared to have moved to the roof of an apartment building, or their father had sought high ground, the better to hunt for them. A mallard made his way towards the John Lewis building. I can only assume that some experiment involving the sudden generation of an awful lot of ducks had taken place nearby.
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