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So here's something I'm sure absolutely no-one wants to know about. What's the latest with my pigeons?
Unfortunately, I became rather a victim of my own success. Just after sunrise on any given morning, I had twenty of the blighters on my balcony.
Unfortunately, I became rather a victim of my own success. Just after sunrise on any given morning, I had twenty of the blighters on my balcony.
It reached the stage where I'd put three piles of food down, but the bigger ones, the bullies, the alphas, kept getting most of it. 
I tried encouraging the others to unionise and fight back but it was no good. "What is this weirdo saying to us?", I imagine they were thinking.
I tried encouraging the others to unionise and fight back but it was no good. "What is this weirdo saying to us?", I imagine they were thinking.
On top of this, I started receiving some complaints. Because when someone has 20 feral pigeons on their balcony, they drop... er, what pigeons relentlessly drop. From the balcony ledge onto below. 
At length, I sadly concluded I had to stop.
At length, I sadly concluded I had to stop.
Which I did - and their visits slowly fell in numbers. All except one. I call him 'Philosopher Pigeon' because all he does every day is sit on my balcony, thinking. And thinking. And thinking some more.
Think the Monty Python Philosopher Football sketch.
Think the Monty Python Philosopher Football sketch.
I mean no disrespect in saying this, but the poor little thing appears to have been hit over the head with the ugly stick, and seems a social outcast compared to all the rest of them, bless him. 
So I've taken pity on him.
So I've taken pity on him.
First I tried to give him some food outside. This didn't work as several others descended at speed and pushed him out the way. 
Then today, I did something I'd been desperately trying to talk myself out of. I put a pile of food *indoors*, next to the French windows.
Then today, I did something I'd been desperately trying to talk myself out of. I put a pile of food *indoors*, next to the French windows.
There followed about 15-20 minutes of me trying to coax him indoors, and him not budging.
Then after he'd worked out where the food was, another 10 mins of him gently creeping inside but moving straight back out if I moved at all.
Then after he'd worked out where the food was, another 10 mins of him gently creeping inside but moving straight back out if I moved at all.
Then, finally, he was in - and with his attention on the food, I quickly slid the doors shut. 
And then... well, I think he thought it was Christmas! He'd never seen such a feast - and it was all for him. Yum yum.
And then... well, I think he thought it was Christmas! He'd never seen such a feast - and it was all for him. Yum yum.
At this point, the reason I'd closed the doors became apparent. Because a second pigeon appeared. He was hilariously oblivious to the feast going on yards from him - then must have smelt something.
Cue him on the other side of the window looking EXTREMELY CONFUSED.
Cue him on the other side of the window looking EXTREMELY CONFUSED.
"Why can't I get in? How did he get in? What kind of magic is this?"
Philosopher Pigeon was totally unphased by all this. And probably thinking "mate - you've been trolled".
He polished the whole thing off. Then I let him straight back out. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
Philosopher Pigeon was totally unphased by all this. And probably thinking "mate - you've been trolled".
He polished the whole thing off. Then I let him straight back out. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
... Until tomorrow, at least.
