Birds of Grey

Dear Mum,

If there’s one thing I like less than an untrained dog and its worshipping owner it’s a pigeon.

Sadly, London is swarming with these ghastly creatures.  They differ from the country pigeon that struts about your garden before Dad yells ‘Gun’ or ‘Pie’ at them and they swoop off in fear.

Country pigeons are, I would argue, more sightly. They’re plumper than the scrawny urban pigeon and their coats are smoother.

They also display definitive blocks of colour whereas the city pigeon always appears smothered in slime, as if it’s taken an extensive bath in an oily puddle. Which it most probably has.

The major difference, however, is their intelligence. The country pigeon is thick. If I had a pound for every time I’ve seen one panic as it slides off the sloping roof of our bird house, too rounded and forgetful about previous landing experiences, I could pay off my maintenance loan.

London pigeons, on the other hand, are streetwise. They aren’t afraid of passers-by. If anything, I reckon they aim to freak us out.

If walking close to one, it will quickly give one flap of its wings but will continue by foot, suggesting “Oh-ho-ho, you thought I was going to fly off, my naive friend, but no no no, I’m continuing alongside you.”

Tourists only encourage them. In the public parks of London, we have Canadian geese, coots, even pelicans and yet pigeons and squirrels attract cameras like they’re celebrities.

And why do people think crouching and making that clicking noise out the corner of their mouths will attract the creatures, like ogling sailors flocking to a siren? When has this technique ever succeeded?

On one occasion, a colleague and I were heaving a hulking Eurobin and had to stop. A tourist was blocking the path as he took photos of a pigeon on a railing. On realising we stood waiting, he asked “What bird is that?”

A pigeon. A pigeon. A shrivelled, sooty, scavenging pigeon.

Why can’t Trafalger Square be residence to heart-warming robins or, better still, flamingos? Why must pigeons insist upon pecking around your feet when you just want to drink your coffee of a summer’s morning? Why must they fly so low and near the heads of London’s occupants?

Because, when they do, some s**t is about to go down.

Welcome home Mum x