Pigeons Frozen Everywhere
Jesus. Finally I manage to de-ice the wings and get my arse in gear to do a post. Never seen so much snow. Fucking freezing. To top it all, me and Mart had to spend the entire weekend in Richmond.
We’d gone down there crack of arse on Saturday because Mart said he wanted to see the river for some reason. Error. Soon as it chucked it down around ten, we couldn’t go anywhere. Whole day was a total fucking freezing snow filled write off.
This is me up to my knees in it, literally:
I was kinda stuck like this for a while as it goes. Had to wee on my own feet to break the ice, and I haven’t had to do that for years.
In the space of an hour, the whole world went white. Only thing to do was find the nearest ledge, and stay there, which is exactly what we did soon as I’d unstuck my feet.
Mart did well managing to bag the hot spot:
Fat George though, not impressed:
Then again, he never is.
Flying in snow is a treacherous business at the best of times. Flying in a blizzard is mental. Flakes in the eyes are the worst. A pigeon can be momentarily blinded by a simple flake. Many a mid-air collision has occurred during a heavy snow fall.
Then on Sunday, a right result, and something I reckon only happens in Richmond. A pal to the pigeons rocks up with bread bits for all. Sure I tasted organic in there somewhere too. Only snag is the ‘all’ included practically every other feathered fucker in Richmond, and beyond I reckon:
Carnage. Fun though, and everyone was pretty polite about it all. Another advantage of Richmond.
Some of those less confident could only stand and watch as we all got to stuff our faces:
Your loss, pal.
Most of us pigeons on the other hand couldn’t wait to get right in there:
Never seen Mike run so fast.
So, back in town for Christmas. Not much snow at all around Soho. Nothing but a load of wet, grumpy, cold and hungry pigeons. Maybe Christmas in Richmond would work? Food for thought.