Black Prince and the Pigeons

Don't ask me why the Black Prince should have visited Leeds. I didn't have time to read his plaque as I was heading towards my train via a tall skinny mocha without cream and trying to do the complicated Maths: Factor in the likely length of the Starbucks queue at 10.43am on a Saturday morning with the unknown platform number for the Skipton train, possibly involving two flights of stairs and a run, bearing in mind the precarious balance of the hot mocha with the camera bag, large Rohan carrier bag (must remember to hide that from Tony) and bad knees - subtract the chance of popping in to the Ladies loo en route and I could just possibly make the 10.56...

The pigeons are obviously not bothered about the thundering hooves above their heads, but wasn't quick enough to catch the cheeky one perched on his helmet.

ps. Why does the nice girl in Starbucks always ask me if I want cream with my SKINNY mocha?