Contrary to my earlier post, I did pitch up to the wedding. Mart fancied a game of Shit or Miss. I was right up for it till I saw she was wearing McQueen.
This was as close as we got:
Hoping to hit the palace later for some right royal leftovers.
For some totally unknown reason, every pigeon in town is going utterly mental about the Royal Wedding this Friday. And it’s not just those in town either. Everywhere you look there are out-of-towners. Pigeons with dodgy accents from Southend, Bournemouth, Stockport, Plymouth. The list goes on. Then there’s the questions. Jesus. Do I know the best ledge to watch it from? Are there any available on Westminster Abbey? Are there spikes? Yes, I’m from London, but do I look like I give a shit? If I do, it’s a mistake. My plan is to get as far away from the West End as possible.
Check this lot out for starters. Part of some Northern amateur dramatic society. They were down on the South Bank yesterday for ‘a brief run-through’ of their own version of the Royal Wedding, something they’re planning on performing outside Buckingham Palace later this afternoon. WTF? Hilarious.
Initially, none of them seemed that interested. All they were doing was wandering around talking Northern to each other, so I asked them which part of the Royal Wedding this was meant to be…:
Turns out they were waiting for Eric. The whole thing was his idea, apparently, and they can’t really start without him as he’s playing the Archbishop of Canterbury. Genius.
Then Eric arrives looking seriously flustered:
Said he’d got stuck in the building they were staying in after the window shut itself. Mart pointed out that a couple of them at the back were pissing themselves so much, they had to walk away. Shut itself, my arse.
Despite all that, soon after he arrived, Eric got things going pretty quickly.
Here he is with the couple playing Wills and Kate, otherwise known as Geoff and Maureen from Doncaster:
I think this must have been the bit where Kate is meant to say, ‘I do.’…
Then it all went horribly wrong. I’m not sure what happened, but the next minute Wills and Kate got into a massive row.
“Fuck off”, “No, you fuck off”, “No, you fuck off!”
Poor Eric was just left standing in the middle looking embarrassed.
Next thing, they’ve fucked off and he’s out there on his own asking every pigeon who walks by, “William and Kate’s wedding? Anyone want a go?”:
Needless to say, his fellow Northerners were nowhere to be seen. I actually felt quite sorry for him in the end so I told him the best place to watch it, or at least the start of it, was in the trees along the Mall. He thanked me, and went off to rehearse his lines.
Rumor has it The Big Birds Club down in Ham might have a do on. Something non-wedding related. May give that one a shot, unless anyone else has got any other suggestions?
Before I disappear to enjoy yet another day’s roasting in the summer style hotness, I thought I’d tell you about Nigel. Nigel is holding a silent protest in Trafalgar Square.
Despite the soaring heat, he’s been standing in front of the Do Not Feed The Pigeon sign for two whole days now:
If you’re heading over that way at any point, please do say hi, or maybe take him some water. He reckons he’ll be there till Monday.
In the meantime, Nigel, keep up the good work.
Seeing as tomorrow is the London Marathon, we thought we’d do our own yesterday in Trafalgar Square. Obviously I was just covering it, not that I wanted to avoid the exercise or anything.
This is Edward. Edward has always been partial to the odd jog so was pretty comfortable most of the way:
Nice steady pace and well timed. Good leg lift technique too. That’s the trick, apparently. Getting the toes well off the ground.
Bernie and Tony were neck-a-neck for most of the race:
A good all round performance from both of them, although I thought Ted at the front lacked focus for some of it, especially when some tourist rocked up with a bag of cheese and onion.
Despite her advancing years and lack of training, Maureen did well too managing to take a respectable 12th place:
The most impressive performance by a long way though was from Radcliffe.
Radcliffe used to be called Max until he discovered his love of running and decided to name himself after one of Britain’s top marathon winners, Paula Radcliffe. Thankfully, we persuaded him not to call himself Paula:
His win was well deserved having taken the lead from the start to set a grueling pace that lasted the entire race. Fair play. He was barely out of breath at the end of it. Just shows what can be done with a bit of training.
Mart had wanted to join in, but seeing as I’ve never seen him move much beyond a gentle stroll I thought best not, and had him hold the finishing line instead.
Top day out all round. The whole event got me thinking. With the Olympics coming to London next year, maybe we pigeons could have our own? The 2012 London Pigeon Olympics. Could be a right laugh. Chip tossing. Shit or Miss. Synchronized flying. The list goes on. Food for thought.
If you’ve got any suggestions for events, let me know.
Moving on from the joys of spring, especially as it seems to have stopped now. This story was posted on Facebook by my good pal Linda.
The pigeons of North Walsham are about to get it, big time. Okay, so you might ask why any pigeon in their right mind would want to live in a place like North Walsham when it is literally in the middle of bum fuck nowhere in the Suffolk** countryside with barely a road in sight, but there ya go. Couple of them probably just ended up there, lost on their way to the East Coast. That’s how it usually happens. It’s also the only rational explanation I can think of. Now though, the council thinks there are way too many of them, and wants rid, so it’s decided to set some traps. Traps? Eh? WTF? You stuck in the middle ages up there or what? Traps haven’t been used for decades. If you really have to, although verbal negotiation is always my chosen route along with pointing them in the direction of an alternative home, there are plenty of friendlier alternatives. I appreciate you’ve given the hawk a go, but dig a bit deeper. It’s not that hard. Or get a hawk that isn’t scared of pigeons.
** Correction – Jim Schofield has kindly informed me that North Walsham is, in fact, in Norfolk. Still the middle of bum fuck nowhere, just in a different county.
Anyway, I checked it out and any pigeons hanging around these particular so-called ‘hotspots’ should be extra vigilant:
* Coral’s bookmaker’s: Mr Wilson said the pigeons were “enjoying” hanging on to netting put there to discourage them
* 4 Market Street: the owners had tried to pigeon-proof the demolished building but the weather had destroyed their work. They would try again
* former Market Place fishmongers: it had been closed at the rear but the pigeons had found their way in. It has now been closed again
* Broadland Travel and Break charity shop: promises to proof both buildings had not yet been carried out. The ledge above the Break shop is now one of the worst for pigeons in the town
Saw this appalling behaviour down on the South Bank near the Millennium Wheel at the weekend. Okay, so the sun was shining and it’s spring, but there is no absolutely no excuse whatsoever for being a blossom muncher. We urban pigeons are not meant to be in trees. Certainly not tucking into a load of fucking nancy flowers. What is the world coming to?
Reckon they must have been out-of-towners. Probably from somewhere near Glastonbury:
Pissed ourselves though when Mart shouts: “Oi, you, blossom muncher” and the twat nearly fell off.
Served him right. Fucking nonce.
Now this is what I call sunshine. Nice one. I’d actually go as far as to say ‘Phew, it’s quite hot today.’ This afternoon I shall mainly be taking in some rays, unlike the pigeons in Glasgow who shall mainly be quite wet. Sorry about that.
Didn’t get the chance to post this before, but the weekend before last I was down on Piccadilly Circus when I noticed what looked to be an awful lot of people coming down the road. Never seen so many. Turns out it was all about ‘Government Cuts’. Now this is something I need to look into, particularly if any of them are pigeon related. What are they cutting? Corners? Food supplies? Rubbish collection?
In the meantime, here are a couple of pics I took on the day.
This is me having a look:
And this is what I was looking at:
Not a bad turn out.
The sun’s out good and proper now. I’d even class this as warm, or getting there. Bring it on. A whole extra hour of daytime thrown in for good measure too. Sweet.
Out and about this morning dodging all the ridiculous April Fool’s idiots, till I saw Gregor and Archie, and couldn’t resist it.
“Gregor, mate. Heard about the latest trend on the bagel front?”
“No, Brian, I haven’t,” said Gregor on the right.
“Have you Archie?”
“No, Brian. Can’t say that I have…” said Archie on the left.
“No way, man. That’s disgusting. You hear that, Archie? Pigeon bagels!””
“Yep – you heard it here first. That’s a bagel, with a pigeon filling.”
Then they both look down and notice the bagel shop they’re sitting on bakes on the premises. Both of them shat themselves, literally. Never seen a pair of pigeons fly so fast.