Grounded. Me. That pigeon. The statues in baghdad. And now, the Concorde. The anxiety's gone. What happened (or actually what isn't going to happen) happened. Or didn't. And now I can laugh about the pigeon incidence with a relatively light heart.

I was home yesterday with a cold and watching the news from Baghdad. Watching them pull down the statue of Saddam from the city centre. It was anti-climatic. It took a very long time. Several variations of ropes and chains kept breaking and shifting. And the embarrassing moment when some soldier draped the American flag over the head of the statue like one might drape a sack over a hanged man. Then it toppled, and no one was certain what's next. Looting, chaos, faction in-fighting.

British Airways and Air France announced today that the Concorde will no longer fly its sleek, needle-nosed jet on transatlantic flights. Another human ambition (and the last of the romantic aeronautic notions) grounded. I'm not sure I would have ever done it, but am sorry to see it go.