Nonpayment

There's a pigeon war going on outside.

Last night it rained. You may have noticed. It rained so much the storm drains were choked and gasping, chimneys were flooding fireplaces and bipeds of all kinds were taking shelter under whatever outcrops they could find.

On the sanctuary of my window sill a power struggle of awesome intensity served to keep me awake more than the gusts of wind rattling the panes or the steady drip drip of the rain water in the chimney. Derek the scruffy whitish pigeon who roosts regularly outside my bedroom, was wrestling for space with three other pigeons, including one conventionally coloured pigeon bully intent on taking away Derek's kingdom.

Pigeon wars seem to consist of several elements, most obviously high-decibel cooing, scrabbling at window frames (it sounded like rats were trying to get in) and, rather lamentably, vast quantities of shitting. My sill looks as though someone has held an avian Glastonbury on it. The pane itself has smears where wings have bashed against it mid fight, a conflict that dragged me out of bed to confront the offenders only to see Derek and the Bully in a mutual beak-lock dragging each other around their scant square inches of disputed territory.  Two female pigeons cowered in the corner, their support hard to fathom as they hid from both rain and violence.  Normally when I pull back the curtains, the pigeons flap away. Instead, these frightened females just cocked a terrified eye at me, while the tussle went on unabated. Though weirdly, as if they knew they were pushing their luck,  the two males continued their fight in feathery silence.

All this may be punishment for skipping my local pizza restaurant without paying for a glass of sparkling water, though I prefer to view our non-payment as a misunderstanding that has its roots in culinary authenticity. This pizzeria is so Italian that the waiters don't actually seem to understand any English, which meant my companion's multiple requests for water were entirely ignored. After we had requested the bill, we tried again to get a glass of tap water, only to receive a lemon-garnished glass of frizzante. Being both parched and irritated there was no way we were sending our acqua back.

At least my attempt to photograph what looked like the world's smallest stick insect climbing up the side of a cocktail stick ended up looking like the opening credits of the original Hartnell Dr Who. Definitely safer to photograph something with this many splinters than put it in your mouth... I imagine Derek the pigeon will return to the fray with a flaming spear looking very much like this to vanquish his foes this evening. It could be another noisy night.