Monday, October 05, 2009
Pigeons on public transport
Sitting on the train at London Bridge, about to depart into the Saturday night for destinations which have only previously occupied my consciousness as Carter USM lyrics and the space on my mental map marked 'here be dragons'.
One of London's feral pigeons flutters through the still-open train door and waddles regally under a seat, opposite which a girl is reading.
Unwilling to share a carriage for three stops with noxious guano-spilling vermin, I grab my notepad (practising shorthand) and head over.
"Excuse me," I say in passing to the girl, who ignores me entirely.
I crouch down and flap my notepad under the seat.
"Go on, fuck off out of it you fucker. Jesus fucking Christ..."
The pigeon, discomfited by my flailing (or unimpressed with my language) leaves huffily.
"Sorry about that," I say to the girl, standing up. Her ignorance of me redoubles.
I return to my seat and my reflections. London is a foreign country.
One of London's feral pigeons flutters through the still-open train door and waddles regally under a seat, opposite which a girl is reading.
Unwilling to share a carriage for three stops with noxious guano-spilling vermin, I grab my notepad (practising shorthand) and head over.
"Excuse me," I say in passing to the girl, who ignores me entirely.
I crouch down and flap my notepad under the seat.
"Go on, fuck off out of it you fucker. Jesus fucking Christ..."
The pigeon, discomfited by my flailing (or unimpressed with my language) leaves huffily.
"Sorry about that," I say to the girl, standing up. Her ignorance of me redoubles.
I return to my seat and my reflections. London is a foreign country.
Labels: MOMENTS, NATURE, TRAVEL
