To continue from my previous post: I didn't invent the notion of being killed by a falling pig. This did happen to someone, or at least I feel it did. Some French or Italian writer: Baudelaire or Dante or someone. Or possibly a Pole. Someone European, anyway. The pig was in an upstairs room and jumped out of the window. Splat.
I thought I could easily find out who it was by Googling "died when pig fell on head" or words to that effect, but alas, I only got references to works of fiction, eg "A Happy Vacancy" by Stephen Dobyns, about a falling pig crushing a distinguished poet in Boston.
I'm sure I didn't make the European version up. I'm sure I was told about it years ago by someone authoritative, like a lecturer at my university. But maybe it's an urban myth. Anyway, I always thought it was an unfortunately ridiculous way to go. The Pantheon roof would be more dignified.
Can anyone help me about the pig story?
Meanwhile I must go and have my bath: it's midnight 34. Isn't that a lovely lily above, though? Not to say a splendid cat below?