I am irresistibly reminded of a drag queen at Pride, or one of those amazing Brazilian samba women at the Notting Hill Carnival, posing for the camera in front of a line of stern grey coppers…. Happy Wednesday, little feller.
“Ssshhh. They’re asleep, I think. We can sneak in….”
“I feel scared. The water….”
POSTSCRIPT (feel free to ignore): You should have had a picture from London today. Specifically, I was going to go inside the Houses of Parliament for the first time in my life. However, thanks to an exquisitely timed cancelled train today — eradicated 10 minutes too late for me to get an earlier one — I couldn’t make it to King’s Cross in time for the event. So there was no point going. So Northern fuck up my day, and I get to just suck it up.
Despite having come to London regularly over the years there are still parts of this massive city that I have not yet explored. The western suburbs were amongst them, but this time I am staying in Brentford, giving me the chance to take a Sunday morning walk down the banks of the Thames to Chiswick and Barnes, all desirable spots. The river looks narrow here but that’s because over there is an eyot, or river island, which splits the flow in two at this point. What the old concrete post was, no idea — but the birds like to perch on it.
I’m fairly certain these are juvenile common waxbills (Estrilda astrild), a member of the finch family. They don’t yet have the bright red bill that gives the species its name (as it looks like it has been dipped in sealing wax) but everything else about them matches the description, particularly the red stripe through the eye. The one on the lower branch flew off the instant I pressed the shutter, and is fluffing himself up ready to make the jump. Taken on my walk to the summit of the island, Diana’s Peak — more photos from the day can be seen on my other blog.
It is known that birds are relatively intelligent creatures for their size, so as I crawl through this null time before Christmas, trying not to think about work, questions come to mind, such as — do they deliberately crap on people’s heads, or is it all an accident? This old metalwork crosses over a street in Hebden as it links two buildings, and whatever it once was, it is now prime pigeon perch; and always worth a look upwards, before any attempt to pass beneath it.
“That human is taking surreptitious bird shots again.”
“Hah! All that stuff about ‘not repeating himself’… Such rubbish. We’ve been on here before, I’m sure.”
“Yes, I remember that one. Glad you’re talking to me again now.”
“Hmmm, well, I’m still a bit miffed with you but I’m getting over it.”
A pigeon food-fight, a moshpit of grain consumption, of a kind that must say something about how evolution will progress for this species, though what that is, we don’t yet know. The one in the middle seems to be staying above it all, however. But probably he’s just taking a quick breather.
“I dunno mate. It gets worse and worse. Look at these scraps.”
“Know exactly what you mean, Bob. You just can’t get the humans these days. Must be global warming or summat.”
“Well, let’s see what we can get out of it before that twat over there decides to muscle in.”
Let’s get on with another year, shall we? Three fowl (I assume, one duck, two geese) drifting by serenely on the Rochdale Canal is not any metaphor for life that I can think of, but it is a way of representing a peaceful (birth)day.
This pigeon nest has been under observation for a couple of days now, seeing as it resides just above the outdoor seating area in the pub, and for the duration, this fledgling has been receiving plenty of encouragement to leave it. Every so often it comes out, slithers around on the roof tile (some seven feet above the ground) for a while, cheeps in an alarmed fashion, then goes back inside. Mum, or possibly Dad, seems to be getting rather fed up with the whole thing. I can’t say I blame it. My one was off like a shot, first chance he got.
Being 42 