There are two major factors influencing the content of this post: The current bin man strike in Brighton, and the resultant angry seagulls.
So, first off, there’s been zero bin emptying down here for three days and already it looks like this:
Basically a town-sized free-for-all:
Yesterday I managed a warm pepperoni pizza slice and an egg mayonnaise roll piece washed down with a bit of cappuccino. This morning I found myself several beaks of trifle. Sweet as, literally. It was only Morrison’s, but I couldn’t fault it.
Basically, whatever you fancy, it’s out there, which means it’s going to get busy when the rest of the UK pigeon population find out (like now, for example). Carnage. Apparently the strike is on till Friday so, as you read this, pigeons everywhere will be hitting the skies, and why wouldn’t they? Brighton needs to be prepared though so I’ve already warned the Pigeon Refuge, and anyone out there with space on their ledge or balcony, you may need to share.
However, despite the fact we should be partying right now, be warned. There are the a few other not-so-nice fuckers tucking into the piles that you need to be wary of. The rats have already appeared, armed and dangerous. Then there are the seagulls. The angry big white seagulls claiming their turf. Those great big fuck-off birds that I thought I’d got to know. Not a bit of it. Every single one of them has gone mental. Off their nut after too much sugar thinking they own it all. Considering most of them have just had kids too, over-feeding on top of a lack of sleep is never a good combination for a seagull. Be warned, and be on your guard. A rat carrying a stick is nothing compared to an angry deranged gull.
A couple of final tips: When going into one of the larger piles, hold your breath. The smell isn’t pleasant and NEVER stick your beak into the small black plastic bags tied together at the top. They’ve got dog shit in them.
Apart from all that, enjoy, and don’t forget to drink plenty of water.
It’s been a while since I’ve done a long one like this. Basically, what with all the Tweeting, twitting and twatting about, I haven’t had time. Nor, to be honest, have I had the connections to facilitate it. Despite doing it for as many years as I have, being a pigeon that blogs isn’t always easy. Not every fucker appreciates a random pigeon flying through the window and jumping all over their laptop, unless they’re expecting one of course, so negotiating those kind of arrangements can be problematic. Someone told me there’s a pigeon-friendly public library down here. Is there fuck. It doesn’t even have ledges. How am I supposed to find the PCs without ledges? I’m pretty sure the windows don’t open either.
Anyway, problem solved. I now have a couple of sources down here happy to help, providing I clean up after myself. Of course as usual, their identities have to remain anonymous in case they get done for encouraging free speech of the pigeon. It wouldn’t be the first time.
So, what have I been up to? I won’t bore you with the throwaway stories but, safe to say, getting something half decent to eat down here is a load easier than in London. It’s smaller for a start and, for some reason, more people tend to drop their food. Don’t know why. Come Friday and Saturday nights getting our beaks round some casual spillage is a piece of piss, especially round the the pier, and even better when the weather’s good. The best is when one of us spots a big group all wearing the same clothes. Think it’s called a hen party. Not sure why though seeing as none of them ever dress like hens. Once we’ve clocked one, we follow them around and just eat whatever gets dropped on the way. Usually starts out with crisps and peanuts, includes lager and sometimes fizzy wine, and always ends up with chips and kebabs. Genius. For those of us who manage to stay the distance, it’s a right result and a great night out, providing you don’t tuck into the puke later like Mart did. Not pleasant.
So, just in case anyone’s wondering what happened between myself and the sweet lady I saw in Queen’s Park? The vision of beauty who lived in a window box in Hove? Turns out to be a right nutter, and not in a good way. Her name’s Alice.
I decided I’d meet her in Queen’s Park in the end. Figured if it turned out to be a disaster, I had a getaway. I knew that soon as I’d sat in her box there’d be no escaping. Call me cynical, but it’s happened before. I thought this way we could keep it casual, hang out a bit, and see if it clicked…
Jesus. Total waste of time. She had nothing to say. Nothing at all. She just did this giggle shit whenever I asked her a question, and I mean banal questions like: ‘How long did it take you to fly here?’, ‘How long have you been in Brighton?’ and ‘What’s your favorite nest padding?’. Questions that were in no way funny. Not even slightly.
This was all I got. Truly dire:
After I’d decided to call it a day, I also happened to notice none of the other pigeons were talking to her either. Funny that. I’ve seen her up there since then. Thankfully she doesn’t seem to know who I am. Total result and a lucky escape.
Other news is we had to move from the first ledge. Not sheltered enough when the winds were kicking in. I didn’t fancy a dusty cliff hole or a dodgy plank under the pier, so went for this instead:
Nice area, solidly built and it’s got a roof. Unfortunately we have to share, but you can’t have everything.
So here’s to summer. Hopefully that wasn’t it last week or I will be pissed.