Me and Mart were hanging out near Fitzroy Square, when Mart spots this.
It was on one of the junctions off Warren Street:
“Why?” I ask, seeing as it was clearly a dumped TV and video, more than likely VHS, and definitely 4:3.
“Wireless electricity!” he says. “Electricity that goes through the air!”
“Fuck off” I say.
I suddenly feel very old and not at all in touch with modern life.
He tells me, due to the recent discovery that electricity can be transported wirelessly, if we stand there for long enough, the TV will turn itself on.
I’m ashamed to say I believe him, and do just that.
Jesus Christ. We were stood there all fucking day. Nothing. Nada.
Load of old bollocks. Wireless electricity, my arse.
Needless to say, we haven’t mentioned the incident to anyone else.
Any of you out there who worry when you see a single magpie imagining it might be bad luck, don’t. Turns out an increasing number of them are opting for the single life. Chucking in the towel on stale relationships. Saying ‘no thanks’ to the nagging. It’s true. I got it straight from the beak of one who chose to remain anonymous on account of the fact he’s not quite single.
This is him.
Let’s call him Magpie X:
“I’ve been trying to knock it on the head for a while now,” he said, “but she won’t have any of it, and I’ve had enough. Loads of my mates keep telling me hanging el solo is the way to be. Go where you want. Do what you want.”
“But wouldn’t you miss the companionship?” I ask.
“Fuck off, would I. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Can I come?'” that’s not companionship, that’s a fucking straight jacket!”
He had a point. That said, as I had no reference whatsoever, I couldn’t really comment either way.
“So you’ve always been single?” he asked me, looking somewhat suspicious.
“Afraid so”, I replied, but added it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’m not sure he believed me, but didn’t bring it up again.
He told me he met his other half, Flo, a few years ago. He wasn’t sure how many. He said it felt like a lifetime, which probably makes it about eight. He said it was love at first sight. Said she was everything he was after. Into silver. Wanted chicks. Preferred an owl’s nest to a sparrow’s (no real surprises there), and even liked roadsmash some might consider past its sell by.
“We went everywhere together. Never apart. Not for a second, but then it started to go wrong. Moaning about food. ‘Call that a worm?’. Nagging about the nest. ‘Oooo That’s not real silver’. You know the kind of thing, but because us magpies are supposed to stick together, we did. No more.”
I asked how she might react when he tells her he’s just not that into her…
“You’ll have to ask me that next week, mate.” He said, and flew off clearly shitting himself.
So, there you have it. Hot off the press. Magpies are changing the tradition of old and going it alone. Fair play, I say.
To be honest, I’m starting to think they might be right, or maybe I’m just saying that as I don’t appear to have much of an option?
Increase in pigeon friendly internet cafs aside, ever feel like London’s a bit of a struggle?
With all that fresh air and country living, I’m beginning to think that Wood Pigeons have got it large. No wonder they look so smug.
Take this pair from Reigate, for example:
He’s having it large. Jesus.
Or this dude:
He’s having it large, I think…
Moving to the sticks. Food for thought.
Cheers to The Woodster for sending the pics.