Canary Row

I happened to spend around an hour sitting in place in town earlier in the week, for reasons that are both too secretive and altogether too boring for me to relate before a particular project bears fruit.

While sitting on a stone bench, listening to a book (as is my way), I watched as a tiny yellow bird, I can only assume a canary, flitted directly out the window of a particularly shady looking bar. It being only about 7 o’clock, and the street being relatively uncluttered by buildings, if ever the bird crested a height of about seven feet the setting sun would gleam red across the edges of its wings, streaking after-images across the eyes of anyone near enough to appreciate it.

I’d have been happy enough for this to have been the end of the story, but I had plenty of time left to sit around and enjoy the ambiance. I had the abundant pleasure of watching four bouncers, each stocky and broadly built, cross the road, having been told (quietly) to recapture the escaped avian.

The four strode, Reservoir Dogs style, across the road towards the canary, the whole time trying to look like angry, muscular men who had far more important places to be, while simultaneously trying very hard not to look threatening to what seemed to be an increasingly tiny and ill-equipped bird. The combined effect built into a kind of bullish tiptoeing, which proved effective only in communicating (both to the lone onlooker and one particularly savvy canary) that these men were not routine or efficient poultry hunters.

This scene quickly led to the establishment of an awkward three man tableau, which would last only until the gleaming yellow bird flitted closer to another of the four than the one currently investigating it, at which point the new closest man would begin to close on it, while the others tried to remain frozen.

The look of anguish in their eyes as they stood immobile in the wind and cackling laughter of a passing hen party communicated more than just frustration. These were men who, even if they didn’t enjoy their jobs, were a lot happier dealing with people than with birds… their employer seemed to think that, they being capable of dealing with mammals, a bird should prove little difficulty. Some fifteen minutes later, one was pecked in the hand as he finally reacquired the feathered escapee…

Sadly, this sudden retaliation caused him to let the startled canary go, and as it soared away, at a near right angle to the ground, the look on the faces of all present, myself included, communicated accurately using a line from The Shawshank Redemption – “I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But still, that place you live in is that much more grey.”

I guess that’s a pretty big inference though. If I’m honest, I was almost definitely the only one thinking that. The bouncers were almost certainly just glad the thing had fucked off… it was beautiful though, to me if to no one else.

Marc “Read some Stephen King I guess” Mac


In my pocket there is a token for a carousel. I don’t know where it came from, but I treasure it. It has become a talisman.