As left home this morning, caught tale end of radio report which went something like this:

"Connex managers say they will now look for more humane alternatives to solve the problem of overcrowding . . . meanwhile in the Big Brother house . . . '

I wondered what inhumane suggestions they discounted and friend Mark was able to fill me in. "I think they were planning a mass shooting or something like that," he said, causing me to splutter coffee. "But people made a fuss so they'll have to find another way now, I suppose."

I was obviously a bit alarmed, both at the idea that people might lose their lives in order that others might gain seats and the rather matter of fact way in which Mark imparted the information. Fortunately, though, turned out there was an innocent explanation.

"You mean they were planning to shoot people?" I asked incredulously.

"Not people," said Mark. "Pigeons. Too many pigeons in the station apparently and too much pigeon mess. So they were going to shoot some to make room for the others."

"When?" I asked.

"Couldn't say," said Mark. "Why?"

"Well, it just sounds a bit dangerous. I mean, the station's usually pretty busy. People might get caught up in the crossfire."

"Collateral damage," said Mark (joking, I think). At this point Organ Man (no, not what you're thinking - man with whom got into conversation about various organs last week, after trying to get through automatic barriers using donor card - they wouldn't accept it) broke in.

"What's on your mind, A positive?" he asked. (We'd got on so well, while chatting about which organs we would be willing to donate, that at end of conversation we'd ended up exchanging blood types - not as useful as phone numbers, I know, but he has quite rare blood group so, you never know - anyway).

"Pigeons, O negative," I replied. "Apparently there are too many and they were planning to shoot them." Having got over my initial fears for self, I was now beginning to feel for the pigeons.

"I'm sure they'll come up with something that won't distress them," said Organ Man, obviously sensing my distress over pigeon plight.

Perhaps they'll send in Connex staff, dressed as blue and yellow canaries to woo them out of the station, with tales of a land where the sun shines and food is plentiful . . ." said Mark, who was not really at all concerned about the pigeons.

I ignored him and we all returned to our respective papers and didn't really talk again until we reached Victoria.

"So, you're fond of pigeons, ha?" said Organ Man. Was about to reply that indeed was, thinking it would be bolster the sensitive humane image of me he seemed to be developing, when, with a particularly bad sense of timing, a pigeon flew over the platform and emptied its bowels over my (just back from the dry cleaners, because I had an important meeting that morning) jacket.

I swore, Organ Man gave me a tissue, to undo the worst of the damage, and Mark just laughed. "If you could do anything you wanted to that pigeon, what would you do?" he asked.