Edith Piaf was 1.47m tall. That’s 4ft9-ish. She was really exceptionally tiny. When she died of liver cancer at the age of 47, her last words – “Every damn fool thing you do in this life, you pay for.” – were probably not very much in the spirit of ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’.
But today is Little Sparrow day. It is indomitable tiny person with huge voice day. It is don’t regret the bad things day, or the good. It is all of these things because I bought caged bird earrings, and then I needed bird shoes to match, and then in walking around the shops for the first time in a week because I was without wheels pending an expensive clutch replacement, I noticed quite how dreary winter is. Black shoes. Brown shoes. Beige coats. Grey scarves. In defiance of beige, I have taken to the skies. I am a bird. With goosebumps and shivers and vertigo. I’m more of a carnival bird than a little sparrow and I’m 17ft tall on the dustbin. But what is lacking in accuracy and grace is made up for in enthusiasm and colour-clashing of epic proportion.