Darling Wifey came home from Edinburgh on Saturday all shaken and upset. She had murdered a little bird.

Apparently she was cruising along the motorway with a Cooper full of friends after a pilgrimage to that cafe where JK Rowling wrote some story or other when she ‘met’ a bird coming the other way.

Time for another joke:
What’s the last thing that goes through a bird’s mind when it hits your windscreen?
Its bum.

Anyway, she was traumatised because the bird broke its neck inches from her face and then died slowly on the windscreen wiper before falling onto the road.

All sympathy for the bird ended this morning when I washed her car and discovered that the birdstrike had cracked her windscreen.

On the upside, I won our bet. She said I would be the first to break her little car – but it was her. Now I need to give her a forfeit…