PIGEON POST

The Two Pigeons

Regular readers may remember that I am a grudging admirer of the feral rock dove, which we call the urban pigeon, but no great lover of them. As part of the development work at St Mary Mags we have just cleared a porch of pigeons, and I presently  have much more pigeon interaction than I would wish. So, the north porch had a brick wall built across it, some time in the 1950s, when most of Clarendon Crescent was derelict, and the porch had simply become a venue for working girls to take their clients. The porch was not, however, sealed up, because the odd configuration of the building made that virtually impossible, and an elaborate array of netting was installed above the wall to try to keep pigeons out. I have no idea when the netting failed, but it was a long time ago. My predecessors used to store things in the porch, and there were the remains of a rusty scaffold tower, rotten ladders and several school benches in there, but the main feature in recent years was guano. I used to tell people that it was one of the nastiest spaces in London, and when I opened the door they tended to agree. The stench in summer was terrific.

So, we had the porch cleared. It was great to see the steps, and to realise that it is actually a handsome little space. The evening that the contractors finished work, with brand new netting, there were forty pigeons perched around the porch and on the west end of the church, which was a bit disconcerting. It occurred to me that if they all came and landed on the netting together they could probably break it. The numbers diminished in the following days, but a lot were still sitting on top of the wall, and defecating into the porch (just to spite us) while noticeable deposits of guano were becoming visible on the cills of the west window.  It took the pigeons ten days to get back in; Lesley heard them, and when she opened the door she found three inside. Two got out, but one remained. There seemed only the tiniest break in the netting, but that seemed to be enough. A comedy interlude came when Lesley went out into the porch and pulled the door to behind her, using the handle on that side (so that they shouldn't go into the church) only to discover that the handle did not actually operate the latch on the inside. Fortunately she had a phone, and I was nearby. The contractors were recalled. The man came and shot the pigeon and repaired the netting. All very businesslike.

This week, though, there are tell-tale signs of dropped nesting material on the pavement, underneath the tower. Lesley has seen them going into the spire, which is bad news. Perhaps ringing the bell might disturb them. Today we saw a pair apparently looking to set up home in a rainwater hopper; even worse.There is no sign of rain, and it would need to be torrential.


Closing Offices

I suppose it seems to Westminster City Councillors that closing local housing offices is purely a question of streamlining bureaucracy, because they have to have had a major failure of imagination to embark on the plan which has been revealed, to close all their estate offices, and centralise the service. They clearly do not understand what the offices actually do, because they couldn't be so callous as to deliberately intend to increase the isolation of the elderly, vulnerable and marginalised. If they had actually asked anyone who works in the offices, or indeed lives on the estates, they would have learnt that the offices perform a valuable social function, being a local point of contact for all sorts of people. Those with mobility problems are the most obvious, but there are also the battered wives who are able to go to the office but wouldn't be allowed to go elsewhere, and there are the non-English speakers whose children can come with them to the local office. It is also simply more efficient to have housing staff who actually know the area, and can walk round the corner to see a problem for themselves. All this will be lost. The effect is to distance the people of the area still further from those who rule them. Westminster City Council put its housing into the hands of CityWest Homes, and so can disclaim responsibility for what happens, and so when you have a complaint it's not Westminster's fault, but CityWest. You could complain to a local housing officer, but now that facility is to be taken away, and so the sense that any human being is actually willing to take any responsibility is diminished even further.


Shouting

At nine o'clock this morning a bearded man with a can of beer was shouting at the world at the top of the park. By eleven-fifteen he had moved on to the bus stop on the Harrow Road, outside Betfred, with a different can, but still shouting. I know how he feels, but don't have as much energy.