The pigeon

How the pigeon landed in the Thames, I don't know. Perhaps it copied the gulls, confident that it would easily rise again from the water.   Perhaps it was swept from a buoy by a passing boat.

I first saw it from the footbridge between Embankment and Royal Festival Hall.    It was flapping its wings and making headway against the strong ebbing tide, aiming for the bridge. But there was no place to land.

I continued to stare, fascinated and slightly appalled knowing it almost inevitable that I was going to witness a drowning. 

Like a tiny feathered boat, the pigeon nudged along the side of the bridge pillars and then, its wing beats weakening, was swept  backwards with the tide.

It was then that the gulls noticed it. One lazily glided overhead, eyeing the pigeon thrashing in the water. The bird circled closer, and was quickly joined by others. 

A gull plopped down and after a couple of pecks, the pigeon's head fell.  Losing interest, the gull lifted itself effortlessly away while the  drowned pigeon, its body flattened, drifted steadily downstream. 

Travelling companion

Up to London on the 10:43 train to meet my son. 


For elevenses, from the refreshment trolley, the couple opposite chose a can of John Smith's Extra Smooth and a quarter bottle of red.