In the greenspace, settled on a shaded bench, doctca surveys all before him. Mid morning mothers push buggies, pointing at this and at that. From behind him come the whoops, cries and laughter of children in the crowded playground. At his feet three grey pigeons strut, one male circles with chest puffed out. The others dart and hop, picking at cracks and loose stones. Beyond them, over the feather strewn pathway a languid swan drifts in slow figures, unruffled, cruising on the still lake.