Knock on wood, but I think I’ve wasted enough time on silly superstitions

August 1, 2026 — 3:30am

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We were sitting outside in the sun, on the broad steps of Sydney’s new fish market, when a bird flew overhead and launched a massive poo on the young woman sitting in front of us. The “dropping” was enormously accurate and voluminous, covering all of her left hand, part of her left arm and much of her dress.

Keen to make her feel better, I told her: “They say it brings good luck.”

Her boyfriend turned with a smile. “In that case,” he says, “she’s in for a lot of good luck. Heaps of it.” At which point he began helping with the laborious clean-up.

What are the origins of these superstitions? Who was the first person to see someone cop a flying splodge of bird poo, and then say: “They say it brings good luck”?

I understand the principle: something unfortunate has happened, so you want to make the person feel better. But why bird poo? We don’t offer this consolation after other misfortunes. If someone smacks their head into a low-lying branch, we don’t say: “Lucky dog! You better buy a lottery ticket.” If you get mugged, the thief pushing you to the ground and stealing your phone, the next person along doesn’t help you to your........

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