Mike Gives Pigeons A Bad Name

What’s going on with the weather? Once again plans were made, and once again they were promptly dashed due to the extremely piss poor weather conditions.

Mart picked it up on the grapevine that Jonathan Ross was having a Bar-B-Que at his place up in Highgate, and ignoring the inevitable menagerie, a load of us were all set to crash. Then it pissed it down and we presumed he had probably either cancelled, or moved the event indoors.

So Me, Mart and Elliot ended up spending the whole of Sunday and Monday sheltering under a lofty overhang near Charing Cross Station bored off our tits. Even started to play ‘Eye Spy’, it was that dull.

“Eye Spy with my pigeon eye something beginning with ‘R'”, said Mart.

“Road?”, said Elliot.

“Nope.”, said Mart.

“Roof?”, said Elliot.


And that was how it went pretty much all day.

This, on the other hand, happened last week, and is a sure sign that there are pals to the pigeons out there all be they dwindling in number, and no wonder when we behave like this:

Started off all very polite with everyone waiting their turn, including Mart (right).

Then Mike decided to take it to a whole new level.

He comes shuffling in from behind…

…butts everyone out of the way, including Mart…

…and goes for the ‘snatch and grab’ without so much as a nod of thanks.

It’s pigeons like Mike who give the rest of us a bad name. I’d call me ‘a rat with wings’ if we all behaved like that. Thankfully, we don’t.

Anyone out there ever thinking of chucking us the odd bread bit, please don’t let this put you off.

Needless to say we all pulled Mike up on his ungrateful behaviour.

Hopefully, he won’t do it again.

May 27, 2008. Tags: , , , , , . Uncategorized. 5 comments.

Street Art, My Arse

One thing I really don’t get is why anyone would want to do a drawing on a pavement. If it rains, which let’s face it is highly likely, it’s fucked. Why not do it on a piece of paper? That way it’s not only rainproof, seeing as you can pick it up and move it when it inevitably pisses down, you get to keep it afterwards, and maybe put it in a nice frame.

The other thing I find weird is why anyone would want to pay for it when they don’t even get a sticker. I watched one bloke stick a whole pound in the hat for nothing more than a quick glance. What’s that all about?

Mart had a good idea. Go find one of these freaks, shit on their art, and see if they notice.

Unfortunately, he did.

Fucking funny.

May 22, 2008. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Angel, My Angel

So now I’m into searching out new and exciting pigeon in mime forms around London, I found this:

It’s the Pall Mall Collective again – see post below.

This time they have chosen a fine location on Rosebery Avenue opposite the world famous Sadler’s Wells theatre. Said they chose it because it was situated near The Angel tube station in Islington. They called it ‘Angel, My Angel’. It’s meant to symbolise the protective nature of the angel in everyday life and how some pigeons needs it more than others. Notice how the trio on the left wing, led by Mike, are clearly rejecting the protection while Tony stares longingly at the leaf hat ‘in search of guidance’, apparently.

Duncan however, perched on the head, appears to be giving a very similar performance to the one he gave in ‘Worshipping The Boot’… Not sure why. Maybe bonce burying is his speciality?

May 20, 2008. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

The Pall Mall Collective

Seeing as the whole mime scene seems to be kicking off big style in the London pigeon community, I thought I’d go out and about to see it in action. I checked in with Wilf beforehand to get his spin on the top locations, and it looks like statues are in.

These dudes are known as the ‘Pall Mall Collective’, so called due to their nearness to a street of the same name:

Here they are giving it large with the ‘staying still for as long as you can’ routine. Respect.

‘Worhsipping the Boot’ they called it.

For those of you not yet up on the mime, which is fair enough as it’s really an emerging art form, Duncan, the one on the left boot, is apparently ‘shying away from the act of war’ whilst Eliza on the right looks on in adoration demonstrating undying love.

This shape, based on the same theme, is simply called ‘Oh, no’:


Everywhere you look the mime movement is staying still across all areas of London in silent protest to all sorts of shit like war, the closing of allotments and the pitying of sparrows. More importantly, Wilf’s School of Mime for Disadvantaged Pigeons has had them queueing round the block.

It’s big, and it’s getting bigger. Pigeons everywhere are learning the mime, and I reckon it won’t be long before ‘people’ join in. It’s peaceful, and it works, and I’m not talking about those fucking freaks who paint themselves gold and pretend to be something they’re not. That’s just weird. This is true mime. Mime as an art form.

I say, “Mime rocks”. Bring it on.

I’ll be out and about in London looking for more great examples of the pigeon in mime. In the meantime, if any of you spot any, email them to me and I’ll post them. This movement needs our support.

May 14, 2008. Uncategorized. 7 comments.

Weird Massive Pigeon Spotted

Check him out:

Is it a woodie? Is it an urban? Fuck knows. Or is it in fact made out of plastic? The mate who sent it said he saw it fly, but surely a pigeon that big is defying gravity on every level? Pity whatever it is flying straight for its beak. Any minute now its massive tongue will lick it out of existence like a lollipop. What’s going on out there in the countryside? Maybe it’s coz the air’s better? Or maybe it’s the fertilizer? Whatever it is, it’s clearly working well. I just hope this is a freak one off and not a sign of things to come…

On a more positive note, I got sent this story from Tom from world without sound.

As part of Deaf Awareness Week last week, the RNID organised a gathering in Trafalgar Square, and they only went and chose a pigeon to represent the cause:

Rock on. Quite like the cloak look too. Could catch on…

Maybe not.

Only kidding, Tom. You guys rock for getting a pigeon that size onto the square.

Bring it on

Cheers for sending it to me.

May 12, 2008. Uncategorized. 3 comments.

Poor Housekeeping Sucks

It’s pigeons like this who give us lot a bad name.

You know how I mentioned how me and Mart cleaned up after ourselves the other morning – see post below – well here’s a pigeon who clearly has absolutely no fucking regard whatsoever for domestic hygiene:

I don’t get it. Why would anyone want to live on a pile of their own shit? There he is with a lovely colourful backdrop perched on a hard-to-come-by lamppost all carpeted in crusty turd.

It’s got to be a right turn off when he pulls.

“Welcome to chez moi. Make yourself at home. Sorry the place is a bit of a mess.”

Watch out as you pick your way through the excrement minefield more like. Saying that, judging by the size of him he probably doesn’t get them back to his that often, so maybe he’s just stopped caring?

All it takes is a bit of peck and wipe. Really not that hard. Lazy fuck.

May 8, 2008. Uncategorized. 1 comment.

A Mental Night Was Had By All

The fallout of London getting a new boss was large. Every pigeon in town was right up for it in a big way. Have to say though, we were all a tad disappointed with his opening gambit telling us what he was planning to do next, and not a single mention of the pigeon. Nada. He talked it up big time about ‘uniting communities’ without even the smallest nod to one of London’s largest – the fucking pigeon community.

If you’re gonna deal in diversity, BJ, get it right. We pigeons are counting on you to make difference. Just sack the hawk and re-instate the right to graze on Trafalgar Square. That’ll do for starters. Saying that, I’ll let him off for now seeing as his head was probably banging just as loud as mine was. Love it that he gave up the booze during the campaign just in case he made a tit of himself. Hilarious. Bet he was downing them like a parched gazelle the other night though.

In the meantime, I got a nice note from Brian Paddick saying ‘thanks for the support’. This is how it ended:

“Apparently the best thing to do when you get thrown by a horse is get back in the saddle as soon as possible, although I wouldn’t know one end of a horse from another!

Thanks again everyone.

With every best wishes,


Bit weird, but there ya go. Probably a good thing he never got to be mayor if he’s not sure whether he can tell the difference between an arse and a mouth, especially on a horse. An eel maybe, but a horse?

Wonder what he’s gonna do next… Maybe he’ll go back to being a Policeman? Probably best not one of the ones who rides a horse, for the horse’s sake.

As for Ken, all he could do was go shopping. Hasn’t even got his shit together to update his homepage.

Anyway, back to the night to end all nights. The venue was already sorted before the result came out, just in case. No need for Derelict London this time, I’d found my own. Check it out.

It may look like your ordinary everyday boarded up derelict building:

But, no. Take a closer look:

Bang on. A neat and tidy pigeon sized window hole. Ok, so you’ve got to go gently with the wings getting in, but once you’re in, it’s fucking massive. A keen eye is needed to spot this kind of opportunity. Thankfully, I had one the other day.

As expected we managed to find some inappropriate leftovers knocking about with just enough left inside to stir up a nice little buzz, and we were off. Had to turn some away in the end when it started to get a bit full and out of control. Sweating my arse off I was.

We poured out at dawn with the well bad munchies and hit Upper Street, where we chanced upon this:


I think the fact were were still pissed up meant we forgot this particular piece of pizza was in the middle of the road. Jesus. Couple of us came damn close to joining it in its flatness. Apologies for the picture quality. Someone else took it. I was laughing too much at Mart who was asking a nearby traffic light if it wanted to dance.

Then, with a belly full of sweetcorn, a load of us went down to the river and hung out. Even ‘Oh-is-that-the-time Doug’ stuck around managing to muster up a fine early morning rendition of Boris’s acceptance speech:

“I say, Ken old chap, why don’t you fuck off? I’m mayor now and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Listen up London, coz I’m The Daddy! Do you hear me? You’re mine. All mine!”

Totally pissed ourselves. Not laughed like that for fucking ages. It was nice too coz I was out with old mates and none of the so-called new ones, which meant I’d had an ‘inappropriate mauling’ free night.

Yesterday was a write off. Mart and me hit the ledge around lunchtime, and stayed there. Didn’t even manage to shove off to shit, which meant this morning was mainly spent cleaning. Worth it though. So now I’m back at ‘L’s and all is good in the world, or a bit better at least.

May 4, 2008. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Boris Is Mayor

So, that’s it – Boris for Mayor.

No more of this – see post below:

and more of this:

Instead of burying my head in the carpet of despair I’ll be out there celebrating with the rest of them.

I just hope you put your money where your mouth is…

Bring on the working together to make life a whole lot better for the pigeons of London.

May 3, 2008. Uncategorized. 5 comments.

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