Have I missed something or did we get the sequel to the Monty Pythonesque story of the racing pigeon popping into a Hanover pub for afternoon snacks?

In the absence of further details I was imagining its new diet of chicken-tikka-masala-flavoured crisps buzzing with E-numbers, leading to a failed drugs test which its owner contested on the grounds that what was showing up were signs of routine medication taken after it had fallen off its motorcycle or alternatively the bird taking to Mars bars in such quantities it was only fit to be entered for egg-and-spoon races for grannies.

Perhaps we're best left to our own imaginations.

-Dave Sandell (not a pigeon fancier), Brighton