I’ve already mentioned this, but thought I’d mention it again as it starts today. In fact, as it’s a weekly gig, I’ll probably mention it every week. Or every day, even.
I have a job. A proper job. No more random wanging on about the ups and downs of day to day life as a London pigeon, or maybe still a bit of that. It’s time for some focus.
A couple of weeks ago, Time Out magazine came up and asked me if I wanted to be their Olympic Commentator. Even though I’ll still be involved in the Pigeon Olympics, they’re talking the whole shebang. The real macoy. Nearly had a fucking heart attack. Of course, I said yes. Actually, I think I nodded. Had a beak full of pizza at the time.
So, that’s it. Exciting stuff. Now all I have to do is think of some interesting shit to write about… Best stay off the Stella for a couple of days. Need to get my head round this one. I have a deadline. Jesus. I have a deadline.
Anyway, the first issue is TODAY. That’s TODAY. Go buy it if you can. Page 6.
I’m off to do some commenting.
A pal called Andi Sharp asked me on Twitter if my old pal Murray was going to Wimbledon again this year. What with all the Olympic craziness, and getting my shit together for Time Out magazine, I’d totally forgotten about both Wimbledon, and Murray.
For those who don’t know him, Murray is a massive Andy Murray fan and loves nothing better than watching him play at Wimbledon. He even changed his name to Murray he loves him that much.
So, remembering Murray and how much the tennis meant to him, I spent most of the afternoon hunting him down. Soon as I found him, I wished I hadn’t. It was shocking.
This was him back in 2008:
Okay, so he wasn’t exactly a looker then, but this is him now:
Jesus Christ. Utterly bonkers. Clearly lost the plot completely. Someone told me he had last year, but I didn’t believe them.
Apparently, since the shooting, he’s been living on the roof of Centre Court as a total recluse. I found him at the back by the bins, and all he was doing was saying “Andy. Andy. Andy.” Over and over again.
I asked him if he was okay, and he just looked vaguely in my direction and goes, “Andy..? Is that you..?”
So, in answer to your question, Andi, Murray will be at Wimbledon this year, but in body only. He’s certainly in no fit state to see his hero play his first match tomorrow.
If anyone has any contacts with the actual Andy Murray, please can you let him know about the plight of Murray? I’m sure even just a brief hello would mean the world to him.
Since my TV appearance on Monday, it’s all gone bonkers. There I am out and about trying to do some serious reporting on the preparations for the Pigeon Olympics, when pigeon after pigeon keeps coming up to me wanting to talk to me or, even worse, touch me. Jesus. Never knew there were so many freaks out there. Take this one, for example.
All I did was stop for a quick drink. I look up, and there he is with his fat arse right in my face. This massive fuck asking me if I want to ‘have some fun’:
Said he knew somewhere we could go if I was up for it. Nearly had a fucking heart attack. Of course I told him straight away that it wasn’t my thing. Not even slightly.
I finally managed to escape the madness just in time to catch the Birmingham female Synchronised Landing team mid practice, who turned out to be utterly shit.
Totally all over the shop:
Still, bodes well for the London team. Hoping to see them sometime over the weekend.
One bit of most excellent news is Time Out magazine want me to do some reporting for them too. Nice one. Brian Pigeon on the spot covering everything Olympic. Bring it on. Power to the pigeon.
Finally it looks like the pigeon is having its day.
After six whole years of telling it how it is for the pigeons of London, the pigeon’s time has come. Bring it on.
Check out ‘The Unnatural History of London’. It was on BBC2 last night. Not only does it big us up, a lot, I even managed to make a brief appearance.
Nice one Passion Pictures.
Power to the Pigeon.
Seeing as the 27th of July isn’t actually that far away now, we’re talking about the Pigeon Olympics torch relay. Probably kicking off next week. Current thinking is we do it with something like this:
The route will be announced this week.
For those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you’ll have gathered that yesterday was not a good day. Every pigeon in London was partying till the early hours in honour of Pigeon Appreciation Day on Wednesday, me included. What started out with a puddle of beer on The Square ended up at Battersea Power Station and a tin of something called ‘Tennants Super’. Jesus Christ. Twatted.
Woke up under a bin lid. Could hardly string a sentence. Those of us who could fly made it to Trafalgar Square in search of something to eat. It seemed like the only thing to do.
Found a cup cake. Result:
Not much to go round but better than nothing.
All Tom could manage was a bit of apple:
Needless to say it didn’t stay down for long.
Mart was so fucked he stayed where he was, under a piece of newspaper. By the afternoon I’d started to feel a bit better, but then the pissing rain came. Just when we thought summer might be back, no chance.
Found this lot from Camden eating some sick under a tree in Holborn. Reckoned it was all they could find:
Anyway, onwards and upwards. That’s it for another year, thank fuck.
Now it’s back to the London Pigeon Olympics where word is the northern teams are arriving next week.
While I’m piecing together what went on yesterday after the carnage that was Pigeon Appreciation Day, I thought I’d post this.
Talk about an unnecessary overuse of spikes. Jesus. What makes Subway think we want to hang out there anyway? We don’t even like Subway.
Today’s the day. National Pigeon Appreciation Day. Genius. Pigeons everywhere are partying, and partying hard, and it’s only just got started. Here’s the piece I did on it for the Time Out blog this morning.
I went down to Trafalgar Square for the kick off at 3. Even by the time I got there, everywhere you looked there were pigeons dancing their tits off:
The atmosphere was electric.
Even Clubfoot Earl was giving it a go. Fair play:
Everyone looked like they were having a great time, then I discovered why. A puddle, with beer. Fuckin’ A. Not sure what it was, but judging by the kick, I reckon it was easily over 5%:
Fat Nige was twatted. Apparently he was the one who discovered the beer, so he just sat in the middle of it getting slowly wankered one sip at a time. Probably won’t move for the duration.
Then the fly-by happened led by Roger from Lewisham, and the whole Square went wild:
So, it’s all on. I’m off to Soho Square now to join the celebrations there. Anyone around who fancies coming down, do.
Watch this space tomorrow for an update on what I’m sure will be utter carnage. Not sure what time as I’m planning on going as large as I possibly can. Bring it on.
Kid you not. The mighty Time Out blog got in touch and asked if I wanted to do something for them. Based on the fact London is already awash with pigeons arriving for the Pigeon Olympics 2012, and the pigeon Olympics is the biggest sporting event in every pigeon’s calendar, I reckoned it should be what’s going on in London this week for the visiting pigeon, if it ever stops raining that is. Jesus. Will it ever stop? We even agreed to put the opening ceremony back to Friday July 27th. Surely the sun will be shining by then? No fucker would turn up if we did it when it’s like this. I’m actually thinking of moving under Westminster Bridge. Never fancied bridge living till now, but I really have had a gut full of soggy ledges.
Nice one Time Out!
What was that all about yesterday? Mental. Got blown about all over the place. Literally. Aimed for Trafalgar Square and ended up in Westminster. Fucking ridiculous. Word on the street is it’s going to carry on like it for a while. Apart from a bit of sun today, it’s bollocks for the foreseeable. Jesus. Couple of weeks ago I was sweating my feathers off. WTF? Not on.
I managed to hook up with my pal Eddy in between gusts:
“I’m absolutely fucking knackered.” That was all he could say having flown from Hackney.
I went out and about this morning and asked a couple of pigeons what they thought of it. Unsurprisingly, it was a resounding ‘utterly shit’.
This is Trevor. As you can see, Trevor only has one leg:
I asked him how he coped with the extremes of yesterday.
“Getting about on one leg is hard enough,” He said. “Never mind when it’s blowing a hurricane and raining all day. It was a bloody nightmare. Tried to sit in a tree but couldn’t hold on for the life of me.”
So make sure you make the most of the sunshine today. Get out there. Have fun. Hang out, because it could be the last time you see it for a while.
Never had a day like yesterday. Genius. Bit worse for wear by the time we hit the branch near Buckingham Palace to watch the Jubilee concert. Probably wouldn’t have stayed as long had I not been. It was also the perfect opportunity for some Shit or Miss, which we did. Hilarious, although mine mostly missed. Terrible in fact. Closest I came to a hit was the wall behind Lenny Henry. Mart managed a corker on some dancing bald guy near the front.
Basically, it had all started much earlier in the day. Philip and James, two pals from Soho, had organized a street party on Old Compton Street. It was pretty mellow at first, then someone spotted a puddle of cappuccino, and it all went downhill from there. Carnage:
Off our tits, some of us more than others. Check out Gary on the left in this one with his eyes half closed:
Seem to remember he was stood there like that for quite some time.
The day before we all decided to see if we could hitch a ride on the flotilla. Never seen so many boats. A couple of us managed to land on the biggest one we could find, until we realised it was only the one with the Queen on it, so we fucked off sharpish before we got a Royal boot up the arse.
Anyway, feeling a bit better now so we’re off to the Mall now for a bit more Shit or Miss. Got to be done. If you’re in London and at a lose end, fly on down and join us. We’ll be in last tree on the left.