Cycling on my way to the station this morning I saw a dead pigeon on the road, unspeakable pigeon guts oozing from its side. From the squished appearance this would appear to be not so much a case of bird flu than a case of bird that didn’t – finally one of London’s pedestrian pigeons learned the hard way that waddling out of the path of oncoming traffic is less effective than flying. Or alternatively, given the weather we have been having, perhaps it just died of cold. Any attempt at a post mortem is probably too late as by the time I cycled home this evening it wasn’t so much a dead pigeon as a sort of pigeon veneer on the road.
Sadly none of this has fazed its feathery collagues one jot – while they weren’t (yet) pecking at its entrails, they were still stomping about quite happily on the road beside its pitiful corpse. Possibly their diet of kebabs and chips has left them actually unable to take off. Panic now. Even our wildlife is becoming morbidly obese.