Ever seen a pigeon who thinks too much? Here’s one. David.
All he does is think all day. Think think think think. Spends way too much time in his own head. It would be alright if his thinking was good and produced something interesting like that of Isaac Newton or Howard Bloom, but it’s not. Mainly, he thinks about places he wants to fly to, but probably never will. Places like Ipswich. Pointless.
As a result, he is often paranoid and over sensitive. I told him to stop thinking the other day, but he can’t. I also told him that a pigeon who thinks to much just becomes dull after a while, and pointed out how far away the others were. So what did he do? Told me he had to go away and think about it. Jesus.
Believe it or not, the sun came out this weekend, and for quite a long time in the end. On Saturday it was up there almost all day, and what with it being spring, Jesus, everyone was at it, apart from me. Suddenly Valentines Day seemed like a walk in the park.
Take this pair, for example. Strangely enough, despite the dude’s amorous large chested advances, she wasn’t having any of it.
Him: “Well hello there, pretty lady. Lovely weather for the time of year, don’t you think?”
Her: “No, not really”
Him: “I say, don’t go away. Come back… I just wondered if I might just…”
Her: “No thanks.”
Him: “Really, just a quick…”
Her: “You’re creeping me out. Go away.”
Him: “Just a quick… sniff…”
Her: “Look, will you please get your head out of my arse.”
And so it went on. Seeing as she didn’t fly off I guessed she was probably right up for it and was playing the old hard-to-get card. I wasn’t wrong. Came back an hour later, and it was a whole different story:
Her: “Go on, sniff my arse again. Go on…”
Him: “Do you think we might be able to move on from that soon?”
Her: “Go on, have a sniff. Sniff away…”
Typical. Always the way. Quite fancied having a crack myself till I saw that. Not pleasant.
I was chuffed as to be asked by a lovely lady called Wendy at Blogs.com what my Top 10 fave London blogs are.
Chris Martin after getting a right tasty ‘Step forward all those of you with an award, not so fast Coldplay’ at the BRITs last night.
Not surprised. What little I know about music, and that isn’t very much, tells me Coldplay really aren’t very good.
In fact, they’re that bad, they can’t even give it away. Jesus.
As a rule, I reckon Valentine’s Day sucks. For me, it’s a day of permanent disappointment as not even a single wink comes my way. Generally, I don’t mind being one of the last remaining single pigeons in London. What I don’t like tho is having my beak rubbed in it every year as hundreds of loved up pigeons fly about the place looking, frankly, a little smug. Ledges everywhere, particularly those with nice views, booked out by pigeon couples who just sit there all day in a sickly manner forced into a moment of togetherness by someone called St Valentine.
Couples like this pair of loosers:
Jesus. Makes me heave.
Saying that, I wouldn’t mind at all if some random sort fancied chucking me an invite… Anyone? Even Mart woke up to a crusty bread bit from a secret admirer. Wtf? Maybe I’ll go get some love tips from Roxy…?
This is Roxy:
Roxy is a rockhopper penguin who lives in London zoo and, even though all the other penguins are paired up, something she doesn’t give a shit about, the offers come flooding in. The zoo even had to give her a postbox to deal with the volume of love notes she expects to receive. So, what’s Roxy got that I haven’t? Ok, so she’s a penguin with great hair, nice eyes, a wicked sense of humour and a fine singing voice, but really. She’s a fucking penguin for Christ’s sake. She can’t even fly. Maybe I should get me a wig? Maybe that’s the trick…?
Anyone out there got any tips, let me know. Even though I think Nobby Valentine or whatever his name is was a bit of a cock for coming up with the whole deal in the first place, and probably had no clue whatsoever what it’s like to be single on a day like today, I wouldn’t mind joining in, just once.
If you wanna know more about Roxy – you can watch a video here. Personally, I don’t get what everyone sees in her. Somewhat overweight, walks like a freak, and smells a bit too, apparently.
My pals at The Londonist got in touch a few days ago. Wondered if I’d be interested in answering a few questions, so I said yes – and this is the result. A full on interview!
They even used the pic I sent them of me and Johnny One Leg:
Nice one. Cheers, guys!
Check this out. Not one, but two of the freakin’ freakiest freak pigeons ever:
Can’t even bear to look at eachother. Hardly surprising. Saying that, judging by the bewildered confusion in the eyes of the one on the left, I’m not actually that sure they know where they are…
And as for the one in next door cage clearly wishing he was anywhere else but next door to that going: “Don’t come near me. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look at me.”
Some bloke in Australia got caught getting off a plane from Dubai with a couple of pigeons stuffed up his trousers.
“Australian customs officials say the live birds were wrapped in padded envelopes and held to the man’s legs by a pair of tights…”
Jesus. Then, as if the whole concept wasn’t all-round weird enough, check out the legs:
Freaks me out.
That said, the pigeons themselves don’t look particularly fussed. Guess they were just glad of the lift.
As Annie said: ‘Plain and simple WTF’
And check this out. Talk about a missed opportunity. Someone called Emily got in touch:
I work on a Live Sky News Programme called SkyNews.com and tonight we are doing a segment on how the snow has affected the uk. I noticed your blog today and wondered if you might be able to speak to us about Britain grinding to a halt with transport, schools and how else the weather has affected us.
Are you available at 7pm tonight and would you be up for appearing?
Please give me a call if you can as soon as possible.”
Kid you not.
Sadly, due to a slight delay in picking up my emails, I missed my slot. Damn.
Finally, my chance to get on TV. Fame at last. Me on Sky News being asked about the weather. A live bona fide pigeon giving his pov on all the chaos. It would have have rocked, and been a massive first for the pigeon. Wonder what they would have asked? I’m guessing they would have used subtitles… Maybe a translator, or one of those nice sign language ladies bottom right?
Emily, if you’re out there, let me know if you want me to come on to talk about something else. Anything. ‘Operation Stop The Squirrel‘ for example? Surely that’s worthy of a spot…?
Today was one of those days you only get once in a lifetime. Literally. Just the once. Me, Mart and the Pall Mall Collective hanging out in the snow in some poncy square in Islington, mainly coz there was fuck all else to do. The whole of London was closed. Turns out rehearsals got canceled due to the fact a few key members couldn’t be arsed to fly over, and those that did were too shagged by the time they arrived to throw any serious mime shapes worth sharing.
Whole thing was a disaster on the mime front, but a right fucking laugh on every other:
Didn’t stop all day. Pissing ourselves. Will he fall? Won’t he? Is that a snowball? Hilarious. Sliding all over the place. Then, some dude called Alex, who’d made it up here all the way in from Surbiton, fair play, decides to try the upright landing manoeuvre, onto a snow covered branch. Wtf? Total mentalist.
Here he is coming in to land:
Here he comes… here he comes…
He’s landed. Phew.
Check out the three in front, clueless as to the debacle going on behind them. Thankfully, Alex managed not only to hit the spot, but to stay there without falling off, something we’d all failed to do at least once, if not twice. Should add tho that there was only the briefest look of relief in his eyes before he promptly threw up. Not surprised.
Anyway, I was meant to be there interviewing this dude:
The name’s Silent Sean. Never really says much, especially not today for some reason, which didn’t make for a particuarly easy interview at first. Looks like he’s been piling on the pounds of late too. Shame.
Silent Sean has been one of the Pall Mall Collective’s leading mime pigeons for years. He was there back in the day when there were only four of them.
“I remember doing a shape once. ‘Box’ we called it. Took it everywhere we did” Sean went on to describe the scene, “Me, what’s his name… Dan? Dell? Dave…? That was it. Dave. Dave from… Maidenhead. Top pigeon. Dave from Maidenhead. He was bottom right corner. Think I was bottom left, or was it the other way round…?”
Suddenly, silent Sean was silent no more and I instantly regretted asking him about the ‘good old days’. On and on he went for hours about what I can only describe as four pigeons standing around in the shape of a square. I knew the best way to shut him up was to stick in a mime request, so I asked him to show me a favourite shape of his, and this was it.
He calls it ‘I glance (at you)’:
I call it a load of old bollocks. Disappointing to say the least.
Anyway, bring on the snow. Cold aside, there’s nothing quite like sitting up in the trees and getting your pic taken by every fucker who walks past just coz what is actually a bunch of pigeons sat in a tree suddenly looks like a Norwegian Christmas card. Frankly, I had my photo taken so many times I was thinking of charging.
May go hunt down the Pall Mall Collective again tomorrow. The told me they’re working on something called ‘The Ice Queen Cometh’. Sounds interesting.
Kid you not. Mental business. There I was, kipping away just behind Exmouth Market, when Mart goes:
“Bri. Wake up, mate. There’s loads of white shit falling out of the sky.”
He wasn’t wrong. I told him it was called snow and, apart from the potential onset of severe frostbite and loosing toes to gangrene, there was nothing to worry about.
He insisted we fly down and go take a look. Clearly landing anywhere when, more than likely, I’d be up to my eyeballs in it, was out of the question.
Still managed to get a couple of tasty shots tho, like this rather nice one of a bicycle:
Quite pleased with the end result, and not easy on the hover I can tell you.
Mart, in the meantime, managed to land and build a snowman:
For fuck’s sake.