What is this life if full of care,
We have no time to stand, and stare?
and while, in many respects, Peter Boo might seem unlikely casting as a gangrel or gangaboot, not to mention a Supertramp, yet there was something about the Edinburgh solicitor, as he sat at the top of Ranulph Ochan'toshan's garden, which might have matched W H Davies' description of what is so lacking in many modern lives, although, in truth, he seemed not to notice much of what he stared at: he might have been sitting on a well-boat out in the Atlantic, or in the shade of the Sphinx, for all he was aware of his surroundings, yet there could have been fortitude in his seeming obliviousness to the encroaching cold, as the afternoon ticked second by second towards the earlier evening which comes with putting the clocks back; he did catch brief sight of Ochan'toshan standing at one of the windows with a woman, perhaps a visitor? whom Boo did not recognise; but why should he? his own involvement with this strange house was itself recent and he didn't really know if he wanted it to become more intimate – Ochan'toshan himself, in the garish dresses and housecoats, wigs, high heels, make-up and nail varnish seemed to Boo to be a bit of a moko jumby, a parody of a woman, which rather gave Boo the shivers; and that was when he heard the boom, above him, and looked up, to see a burst of flame and something falling towards him; hastily, he rolled off the seat and scrabbled away, just in time to see a tangle of metal, bones, feathers and beak hit the very spot where he had sat: "fuck me!" the expletive was a rare one for the fastidious Boo, but quite genuine in it's spontaneity: "who tries to shoot a bird with a fucking bazooka?"