When sparrows go bad

By Bill Ralston In Life

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17th January, 2013
The Attack of the Killer Sparrow. It sounds like the title of a splatter movie, but it happened to me and, may I say, I got bugger-all sympathy after suffering this trauma. It began on a hot summer’s morning recently when I was sitting on the deck, wearing a rather fetching panama hat and reading an ancient dog-eared Wilbur Smith novel I’d found on the bach’s bookshelf. The scene was idyllic. Waves were rolling gently onto the golden sand beach in front of me, there was the cheering sound of happy children splashing in the nearby lagoon and the temperature was just cresting a slow-cooking ...

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