We all know those London stereotypes, the walking business suits, the tourists with cameras dragging along the floor, the lycra’d fluorescent cyclists with their outer space helmets, and the usual nutter in pajamas on the tube who mutters insults about the whole carriage. But there’s an underground movement, a revolution of a new underclass that I feel no one will take me seriously about…
Yes, ladies and gents, The Pigeon. Those grey, toe-less beasts, the vermin of the city, infesting the nooks and crannies of our capital, in station roof beams, surfing the trash of our honorable dumpsters – they’re everywhere.
For instance, look at this guy. I watched this coolest of the Hoxton hipsters (I could almost see a little beard on his beak but maybe I’m the nutter in pajamas). He was all tucked in, settled in the middle of the road outside Coffee Junction – the trendiest of outdoor areas, he knows how to hit the cool spots, this guy. And I watched, coffee cup tilted dangerously in my absent hold, as he parted traffic. Cars drove around this stubborn critter. I was amazed. He was just so out there, so cutting edge. An advertising agency would be all over him – he would be the sexiest thing in marketing since our favourite naked star of the Old Spice adds (the man your man could smell like).
This was the first pigeon I have ever envied. I’m not ashamed to say it (I’m very ashamed). It was practically cute. This bird does whatever the hell he wants. I bet he gets free entry into all the best clubs. And he definitely gets all the ladies, especially with that kick-ass beard. I wondered if I should ask for a selfie or an autograph, but then I remembered he was a pigeon.
So if I have found a pigeon that’s cooler than I am, where does this leave us? I bet there’s a statistic somewhere that proves pigeons outnumber us. And now that they have a cool new leader, what happens when they finally unite and fight back? Let’s just say that I’m saving up my air miles and keeping a travel bag packed under the windowsill. Forget zombie attacks, forget Godzilla and flying tarantula wasps – pigeons are the real threat. There’ll be a film about pigeons on a plane soon, or perhaps James Bond will be on the case in Flightless but Fierce.
There’s only one way out of this. We have to join them. Let them part the crowds and the traffic. Walk around the stubborn buggers and for goodness sake, don’t follow them around Bishopsgate throwing things at them from bins (it happens…) The key is not to anger them. I’m too young to be killed by the deformed claws of a rabid pigeon.
Heed these words: The Pigeons are coming. It will be even worse than Winter. White Walkers have got nothing on these guys. Win them over with bread, throw your coins at their feet, bribe them with pastry – it may just save your life. Unless, of course, these are just the ramblings of the type of Londoner who sometimes sings out loud to her iPod on the train, and enjoys staring at strangers on the tube to unnerve them. At least I never travel in my pajamas.