My office - as has been noted before - is the local pigeon suicide spot. It's mostly glass and on a steep hill, so pigeons coming in over the river misjudge the climb and bang into my window.
On the side of the building, however, they fly straight out of the woods and slam into the windows at full tilt …
Er … POW!
Yup … that's how much dust a pigeon carries round with it; a walking squawking bag of psittacosis, stuffed to the gunwales with junk food and barreling out of the trees, straight into David D's window.
Pretty awesome, huh? You can make out the wing feathers and even the surprised look on its dumb little face.
Those of you of a more compassionate nature should know that it staggered around the balcony for a while and then flew off, presumably to gather some more dust.
This is what happens if the pigeon doesn't slam on the brakes …
Chris F's window at the rear of the building.
It must have hit beak-on with wings tucked in as it made a perfectly circular hole.
That one strutted around the office for a bit until we threw a tea towel over it and put it outside on the bridge, from whence if departed in high dudgeon.
So … with the peregrine falcons living on the Cathedral on one side of the river and our pigeon-eating building on the other, Norwich is doing its bit to eradicate the flying rats.
