Okay – it’s official. It is now seriously cold. Feet stuck to the concrete cold. Last night it was so cold my tail feathers froze. It was a bit like dragging a rake. And I must’ve dribbled in my sleep. Took me a good ten minutes to get the beak open this morning. Not on.
Mart suggested we go hang out with Derek on the Barclays ad on Piccadilly Circus. True, it’s one of the warmest spots in town, but there’s a reason Derek is up there on his own:
Derek is without doubt one of the dullest pigeons I have ever met. Excruciating in fact. The last thing you need when trying to survive in the Arctic is a twat twatting on in your face about the state of the Irish economy.
So – I’m off to find me and Mart a billboard of our own and leave Derek up there to bore himself to death.
Saw this the other day. Fucking rank, and not at all typical of Richmond.
A couple of pigeons daring each other to tuck into the biggest pile of goose shit I’d ever seen while the rest of us looked on, totally flabbergasted:
Apart from anything else, geese are famous for their stinking shit.
“Go on. Get in there my son.” He was going.
He fucking did it. Stuck his whole head in and sucked up a load.
Check Bill out throwing up in the background. Not surprised. Even I had a slight sweat on.
Turns out they were from Earls Court and were vaguely related to a pigeon that had heard of South Africa, so they’re down for the match on Saturday at Twickenham. That’s to be avoided then.
Richmond is one of those places where we come to to get away from it all, just not on match days. Heard the place is full of pigeons eating shit, and worse. There’s a lot of sick around too. Despite the alcohol content, eating lager sick never feels great.
Bumped into Clubfoot Colin today.
Utterly wankered at four o’clock in the afternoon:
Don’t think he knew his own name, or he didn’t till Mart goes “Oi, Col, mate. Do you know you’ve got a chip stuck to your arse?”
And even then, he didn’t do much.
This is an outrage.
Starbucks have decided to exploit the pigeons arse on some new instore Christmas signage.
We don’t even like coffee.
This was Gerald after he did some last year:
The smallest lick of a latte spillage and he was off his nut. For hours.
Some say he still is.
Finally managed to haul my arse back from Wales. Not through lack of trying. The weather sucked the big one. Let’s face it, who wants to fly down the M4 when it’s gusting 100mph in the wrong direction. Got as far as Bristol, and decided to chuck in the towel. Ended up in Portishead. Not much going for it apart from the band, and they fucked off years ago.
As for the mini-break, we made it to the Brecons. Lovely to look at, boring as shit for the pigeon. Nothing doing whatsoever.
Best we did for action was a couple of ducks:
And even they pissed off after five minutes:
Not that it mattered. Couldn’t understand a word they were saying anyway.
So – it’s back to the concrete just in time for Christmas.