The Ghost Of Henry Pigeon
Generally, I like to think of myself as a pretty straight up thinker. What you see is what you get. Aside from not walking under ladders, something I’ve always considered to be common sense, I’m not superstitious. Far from it. No namby pamby-ness about me whatsover, till I saw this, and nearly shat myself.
Bit of background first:
Henry Pigeon was a legend in his time. Total legend. He lived on top of a bakers just off Upper Street in Islington. As he was a regular visitor to the door of the baker, the baker got to know him and would often throw him not just the odd crumb, but entire wholemeal rolls. Far as most pigeons were concerned, Henry was onto a winner but, do you know what he did? Henry had heard that the pigeons in Hackney had it tough, so everyday he would take a small piece for himself, lift the remainder into his shivering beak, and carry it all the way to Mare Street where he’d break it up and distribute the crumbs amongst the needy. Day after day, that’s what he did. It wasn’t always easy either as sometimes the bread was a couple of days old and quite hard.
Anyway, one day Henry decided to try taking an entire seeded batch. Unfortunately, the loaf being larger than he was, the sheer weight and size of it was too much, and he dropped it. The loaf fell into the middle of the road, he chased after it in a flurry of feathers, and was run over by the number 38 bus.
So, that’s it. The legend of Henry Pigeon, but it doesn’t stop there. Oh no. The ghost of Henry Pigeon lives on. Some say he is still searching for the loaf, others say he likes to watch over the 38 bus route to make sure no other pigeons fall victim to it’s bendy length. Course, I never believed in such bollocks, till now.
Yesterday, Mart rocks up. I tell him he looks like he’s seen a ghost, to which he replies, “I just have Bri. Fuck me. Check it out.”
Sure enough, there it was, clear as a hazy day. Mart had gone out and about with the cam, and managed to take a pic of the ghost of Henry pigeon sat looking out over Rosebery Avenue:
You can tell it’s him by the angle of the neck.
The scariest shit I’ve seen in a long time.
Obviously, now I know ghosts exist, I’ll be on the lookout. Thinking I might hit Wimbledon this year. See if a few of those who got it last year are still roaming the rafters… Murray’s not been the same since.