Sidney the Woodpigeon Part 2

As woodpigeons go, Sidney is somewhat unusual (see Sidney the Woodpigeon Part 1 for further details). He’s smart, wants to contribute something to society, and can speak to owls. He’s also lamenting the recent death of his best pigeon friend, Cyril, who expired in what Sidney considers a tragic, if wholly unexpected, consequence of the ongoing coronavirus pandemic.

The fallout from Cyril’s failure to avoid being hit by an airgun pellet is beginning to slowly recede now, some seven days after it happened, but Florrie, Cyril’s widow, remains inconsolable. Rita, Sidney’s other half, is doing sterling work keeping Florrie busy and occupied, but it’s obviously hard work. When she gets back to the roost under the canal bridge after a day with Florrie she’s mentally and physically exhausted.

Fortunately, Sidney is at a bit of a loose end work-wise at the moment, so whilst she’s out he’s plenty of time to keep the roost tidy and prepare a few nibbles for her to eat whilst she unloads the events of her day on him in the evening. He can see what it’s taking out of Rita and wants to help in any way he can. She’s grateful, and appreciates there aren’t too many woodpigeons like Sidney around. There may be a coo or two later – if she can keep her eyes open.

Although Rita doesn’t know this, Sidney is in fact unique. His attitude to work, to wanting to make something of himself, to be helpful, runs contrary to the mind-set of every other woodpigeon on the planet. Yes, some of his distant relatives have capabilities that humans have been able to exploit but, as a genus, the woodpigeon remains completely and utterly resistant to the need to change for whatever reason. Sidney must have missed that explanatory email. Which is a good thing for this story.

When she’s eventually settled in the roost, Rita begins what has become a daily ritual now, explaining how Florrie is or isn’t holding up.

“She was crying when I got there this morning. None of the kids have been in touch. She seems lost. I get the impression her and Cyril didn’t have many friends apart from us. There is a brother but he’s proving difficult to locate. The word’s gone out though, so I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon.”

“Is that Monty?” asked Sidney. “I remember him. Bit of a loose cannon if I recall correctly. He will only make things worse in my view.”

Rita sighed. “Look Sidney, I am trying my best as a friend, but at times like this a family member can prove a better shoulder to cry on. Yes, I know Monty is a bit weird but he’s still her brother. Give him a chance.”

“You’re doing more than any other pigeon could really expect you to do in the circumstances, Rita.” Sidney looked at her as he said this, nonchalantly removing a small greenfly that had the temerity to land on the back of her head. “She’ll get over it sooner or later and I’m sure she’ll be extremely grateful for all you’ve done to help her then.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Rita replied, “but when I left her this evening she was talking about revenge. I think the shock may have unhinged her mentally. It’s hard to predict which Florrie I will meet each day.”

“I am sorry,” said Sidney. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

“You’re there when I need you. That’s enough for me.” Rita pecked him gently on his cheek. She wasn’t feeling tired any more. Perhaps a coo or two would do the pair of them good.

It’s a couple of days later. Rita has gone off to be with Florrie again. Sidney is chomping at the bit to do something useful, but the unpaid job he had with the car-wash people near the supermarket (second and final reminder – see Sidney the Woodpigeon Part 1) is still unavailable as the business remains closed. He’s flown over the supermarket car-park a couple of times and practised his aim, but it’s clear the initial spike in demand has receded somewhat. Nevertheless, Sidney thinks Ray, the owner of the carwash, may be missing a trick. He decides to track down Screech, the owl who got him the job and who lives at Ray’s place. But where to start? The car-wash is locked up and Sidney doesn’t know Ray’s home address.

Woodpigeons are communal creatures. They like nothing more than an opportunity to chew the fat, as it were, in a social environment. The currently most popular venue for them to do this is Peckers Club, located within a deceptively large set of branches high in a beech tree on the edge of town. It offers a wide variety of seeds at reasonable prices plus, because of its ‘Club’ designation, the benefit of being a pigeon-only environment.

Sidney, and indeed many of the older woodpigeons, all like the place because of this. The new open-bird policy all the newer places are trialling is all very well, but every time he goes in one he inevitably finds a Goldfinch or Blue Tit snaffling his seed when his back is turned. Pigeons generally respect one another’s food, although their sanitary habits are perhaps in need of some improvement.

He’d put a card in the suggestion box at Peckers, highlighting the problem and making a couple of what he thought were sensible proposals that would hopefully improve things, but so far he’d neither seen nor heard anything about it. The suggestion box itself was becoming covered in droppings, so he wasn’t holding out much hope.

Inevitably, Sidney opts for Peckers for something to do as much as anything else. Whilst not normally depressed, Sidney is certainly a bit down as he listlessly starts to peck at the second small tray of mixed seed he’s ordered. He can’t really remember finishing the first, but the empty tray is there in front of him and he’s still hungry. He wonders if he’s comfort pecking. There’s a copy of today’s Pigeon Post on the next branch, left by a previous occupant, so he picks it up and starts to read it. Please don’t ask how this is possible. It just is, on the same basis that the pigeon world has a daily newspaper and clubs.

He looks at the racing section first, being a pigeon of habit. His old dad would be proud. He sees a couple of several times removed cousins are currently in France, awaiting release before a no doubt arduous journey back to the home country. Why do they do that, he wonders. He thinks about putting a small bet on, but then reads on to discover the pandemic has resulted in the birds having been stuck there for nearly three months now. Their opportunity to fly home isn’t likely to be starting anytime soon. Sidney’s never tasted foreign seed. He hopes it’s nice and inwardly sympathises with their predicament.

It gets him thinking. Pigeons are not migrating birds, so their knowledge of the world is fairly limited. He remembers one of his Grandad’s distant and aged relatives was something important in the last war, and it involved a lot of foreign travel, sometimes behind enemy lines. According to his Grandad, he enjoyed it so much he never shut up about it afterwards. All the baby squabs were told by their parents not to ask him questions about it when visiting. Given the average lifespan of a woodpigeon is about six years, Sidney considers it’s time he and Rita travelled a bit to expand their knowledge and understanding. Maybe blow off the cobwebs after the thing with Florrie has calmed down a bit.

Sidney reads on. News on the pandemic occupies much of the paper. He notes the government is beginning to carefully loosen the lockdown restrictions, and wonders why the rules are different depending on which part of the UK you are living in. The fallout from the latest near-fall from grace of a government adviser remains topical. The editorial in the paper (Sidney is an avid reader) suggests the growing willingness of the public to break the rules and the refusal of the adviser to either apologise or resign following his actions are not unconnected. Sidney can see this to a point, but thinks the length of time the country has been under lockdown is more than a contributory factor. At least they aren’t in America.

When he takes his beak out of the Post, he notices an old acquaintance perched nearby. It’s the bizarrely-named Robin, a pigeon who has more reason than most to dislike his parents. To his credit though, Robin uses a combination of deflective humour and the threat of violence (he grew up to be a big woodpigeon) to not only cope but also to thrive in what could have been a difficult world for him. They exchange nods.

“I heard about Cyril,” Robin says. “Sad news. You two were great friends.”

"Thanks,” replies Sidney. “Yes, we even worked together just before he got shot. Florrie’s taken it badly. Rita’s spending a lot of time with her at the moment. How are things with you and Brenda?”

There are a lot of woodpigeons around, many more than you would imagine. Even so, it is a fact that they all know the names of the others, irrespective of friendship level. Sidney and Robin weren’t big mates, but they knew about each other’s lives.

“Fine thanks,” said Robin. “The last squab’s just left, so we’re rattling around by ourselves. You don’t appreciate them until they aren’t there. Oh well, that’s the way it goes. I’m sure another will turn up soon (he gave Sidney a small wink here). I’ll ask Brenda if she can fly over and help your Rita with Florrie. They did know each other back in the day I think.”

“That would be helpful. Thanks for this.”

“Not a problem,” continued Robin. “What was it you were doing with Cyril as work?” he enquired.

So Sidney provides Robin with the story of his car-wash activities, including meeting Screech the owl. Robin is impressed and says so.

“So.” Then Robin adds “I knew Screech a bit when I was growing up. Lived on a farm with some bloke who looked after him following an accident involving a car I think. Haven’t seen him about for a while now. How’s he doing?”

Sidney explains about the temporary closure of the car-wash, adding he hasn’t seen Screech himself for over two months. “Whereabouts is that farm he lived at?”

Robin identifies a location. Sidney thanks him and, before leaving Peckers, buys him a small tray of assorted seed to acknowledge the help he’s provided. Most of that help has been psychological, just being able to talk, but every little and all that.

“Laters.” he says as he departs the Club. He always says that. He doesn’t know why.

He’s got enough time to check out Screech’s place, if indeed that’s where Screech is living at present, before getting back to the roost to await Rita’s return and an evening of wondrous stories from her front line. Whilst flying there, he tries to work out the best way to actually talk to the owl, assuming he is there and can be contacted. Their relationship has been good, but Sidney is a bit troubled that Screech hasn’t been in touch since the car-wash closed. As it turns out, Screech does still live there and is perched on the TV aerial when Sidney rocks up.

“Hello stranger,” says Sidney, as he alights on the aerial. “Keeping well?”

If Screech is surprised to see Sidney, he hides it well. “As I live and hoot, look what the bloody cat’s dragged in!” he exclaims in a semi-sarcastic voice. “Got no cars to shit on?”

“Not since the car-wash closed down,” replies Sidney, completely at ease with the banter. “Mind you, I was thinking of moving somewhere else anyway. The humans and other birds were bloody awful company. Always whingeing on about something and, invariably, nothing. A right pain in the parsons.”

“The feeling is mutual,” deadpans Screech. Then, “It’s great to see you. How’s Cyril doing?”

That brings the conversational tone down a few notches. Sidney explains what happened, quietly and, he hopes, unemotionally. Crying woodpigeons are embarrassing, thinks Sidney, especially those doing so publicly. He decides to change the subject by asking what plans have been made for re-opening the car-wash. At this, Screech narrows his amazingly large eyes.

“No bloody idea,” he says, “and I’ve not even seen Ray for four weeks now. He was self-isolating after a relative caught Covid, but that should have lasted for a maximum of two weeks tops. It’s why I’m up here in daylight. I have to catch my own food at the moment. Me – a geriatric owl with an arthritic claw, deteriorating eyesight and mangy feathers – having to fend for myself! It’s not right, not right at all.” Sidney could see Screech was not happy, but chose to ignore that aspect for now. He was pleased to have found him so easily.

Sidney explained to Screech that in his view it was time for the car-wash to re-open. Screech agreed. It was persuading Ray that was the big problem. The self-employed furlough scheme had provided Ray with more money than he expected to receive during the lockdown, thanks to the admittedly accidental over-exuberance of his Accountant, who had overstated the profitability of the car-wash during the three previous tax years. It would no doubt all come back to bite his backside eventually, but for now Ray was enjoying the first proper rest he’s had in many years thanks to the government. And, apart from the self-isolation, the wife and the three kids, Ray was apparently loving it.

This information wasn’t what Sidney wanted to hear. Screech concurred, and said he found it hard to believe any story where Ray was cast as a happy family man. Ray was a good guy, but getting away from family responsibilities and making a few quid always ranked higher, in Screech’s opinion, than staying at home, coronavirus or not. There were no reasons why the car-wash shouldn’t re-open provided PPE and safe-distancing issues were resolved. If Ray was around, things would be so much simpler. Sidney thought about it for a few minutes, and then made a suggestion to Screech.

“Shit! That’s brilliant. It reminds me of my youth, when I was much more clever than I am now. How can I help?”

A plan was finalised. Sidney flew back to the roost with the cares of the world no longer weighing so heavily on his shoulders. He tidied around a bit, before having a quick snooze and awaiting the return of Rita. As she landed, he fussed about her like a squab on heat.

“Easy tiger,” she exclaimed, as she started the long process of unwinding after a difficult day at her particular coal-face. It wasn’t an expression spoken too seriously, but it was a gentle message to Sidney that the fun and games of a couple of days ago were unlikely to be repeated tonight. She was very tired.

Sidney had no issues with that. He was just happy she was back, and he said so. Rather than mention his idea about going away for a few days now, he decided to hold back to allow Rita to start to chill a bit first. He grinned at her (woodpigeons have that ability) and then prepared himself for her tale of woe.

“I’m afraid I do have something to tell you that may wipe the smile off your beak,” Rita told him. “Monty’s back. He agrees with Florrie about revenge for Cyril’s death. I saw him just as I was leaving. I expected him to be upset, but I didn’t expect him to be so angry. Where has he got such ideas from?”

“From what I understand,” responded Sidney, “Monty has been flying around with some younger idealists who want to change the world. Holding humans to account for their crimes against woodpigeons is top of their agenda. Cyril’s death is a perfect opportunity for Monty to rail against the injustice in the world, particularly where humans are concerned. It’s not going to work though. Humans have all the cards stacked in their favour. The best a woodpigeon uprising can offer is covert resistance in the form of vandalism of human property, undertaken mainly at night to avoid detection. It usually fails.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” Rita commented. “Are you a sympathiser?”

Sidney had read an article about it in the Pigeon Post earlier that day, whilst feeling miserable in Peckers Club. He explained all this to Rita, together with his reasoning about why he was feeling so depressed – the death of Cyril; nothing constructive to do; frustration at being unable to help Rita with Florrie. Then he told her about meeting Robin, and the offer he made of asking Brenda to help Rita. Finally, he explained he’d met Screech and there was a plan to re-open the car-wash. He didn’t go into details.

“I thought you seemed a bit more like the old Sidney when I came back a few minutes ago. Now I know why.” Rita smiled at Sidney. “Tell Robin if Brenda can spare a few hours, that would be fantastic. Perhaps we could take Florrie out somewhere for lunch.”

Sidney promised to do so. “I’m a little bit concerned that Monty is going to try to do something stupid. Shall I have a quiet word?”

Rita thought about it. “Not just yet. What I saw earlier may just have been Monty letting off steam. Let’s see how things progress. Now, what delights have you saved me for my tea?”

The next day, Sidney is a busy woodpigeon. After saying goodbye to Rita, he pops over to Robin’s roost very early and passes on her message to Brenda, who is happy to help and promises to get in touch with Rita shortly. Then, Sidney flies out of town to a small, near-deserted shopping centre that sprang up almost without warning a few years back. It’s not too far from where Screech lives with Ray. The lockdown restrictions are responsible for the lack of shoppers. There is just one shop open out of the seventeen available.

This is of little concern to Sidney, who has one particular shop in mind. It’s Grenvilles, a recently opened (and now closed because of the pandemic) specialist furniture shop. Sidney recalls the ridiculous amount of advertising undertaken when the shop first opened. At the time, everywhere he flew he saw a flyer telling the world at large it would be opening soon. Whilst most of these signs had now disappeared, Sidney was hopeful there may still be a couple lying around somewhere he could purloin.

He lands in the rear of Grenvilles, where delivery trucks and other vehicles normally load and unload their stuff each day. There is no-one around. He sees an open skip against a wall, half-full of all sorts of rubbish, so he goes to investigate. It’s a bit dark in the skip, but he thinks there may be something useful in there. Assistance is required, so he flies off to see Screech.

Later the same day, Sidney lands on the aerial above the car-wash. The supermarket nearby is busy, but not as busy as he remembers from the good days of just a few months ago. The car-wash is secured by two large gates. One is dented now. Sidney doesn’t recall it being that way before lockdown, and wonders if the damage is recent, possibly from a frustrated car-owner in need of a quick car-wash due to unexpected bird-shit landing on the windscreen. He smiles at the recent memory, and wonders if the bird responsible did it by accident or design. Call it a professional interest. Otherwise, the place is exactly how he remembers it. Reconnaissance completed, Sidney once again flies off to see Screech. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.

Back at the roost, Rita is preparing them a little something to eat. It’s being done VERY LOUDLY, indicating she’s in a bad mood. She’s home earlier than expected, mainly because she can’t stand to be around Monty, the pompous little shit! Rita isn’t normally disposed to swearing but, really, that woodpigeon is a disgrace. Sidney is surprised she’s home before him, but understands why once she starts to unload.

“As soon as I got there, Monty is in my face telling me what he and his friends are going to do to honour Cyril’s memory. This from a woodpigeon who hasn’t seen Cyril for two years! Hypocrite! Florrie has provided Monty with the location of Cyril’s death. Monty has been speaking surreptitiously to some of his new ‘friends’ and they are putting a plan together. I don’t know what it is though.”

“Florrie told me the outline details. I don’t think even she knows what the full plan entails. Anyway, Florrie seems to be coming to her senses a bit now. We chatted about Monty, strutting around like he owned the place, talking down to both of us, speaking like he had experienced some kind of spiritual conversion. She wishes she’d not got in touch. Sad to say, the only good thing about Monty’s visit is Florrie’s recovery from the depths of despair.”

“Every now and again, Monty would disappear from the roost. He’d come back more arrogant and cocksure than before he left, as though he’d taken something to make him feel bigger, stronger, more aggressive. I spotted where he was going and managed to investigate whilst he was talking to one of the other relatives who turned up to pay respects. I’ve brought back what I found.”

Rita produces a few grey seeds from a small snail shell she’s hidden under the nest. “What do you think Sidney?”

Sidney has his suspicions. He approaches the seeds slowly, sniffing as he does so. It’s exactly as he thinks. Monty is doing drugs. The seeds look normal enough, but there’s a sheen on it that indicates they have been dipped in something. He thinks it may be a, what’s the word – I saw it in the Post recently – oh yes, cannabinoid. A derivative of cannabis. It’s a growing problem in the woodpigeon and indeed other worlds. The Post referred to it as ‘Smash’. Highly addictive and ultimately lethal. Once hooked, the young woodpigeon rarely recovers. It does something to the brain.

Some woodpigeon has stumbled on a supply and has managed to liberate it somehow. This idiot bird has given some to its mates and the rest is history. Monty and his woodpigeon mates are attempting to turn their frustrations and anger into a world fuelled by the highs Smash provides. This is serious.

He says as much to Rita, but leaves out the lethal part. Sidney is already committed to car-wash related activities for most of tomorrow, but promises Rita faithfully he’ll try to sort everything out the next day. For her part, she’s been contacted by Brenda and they are taking Florrie out for a fly and lunch in the countryside. Florrie needs to get out of her roost, particularly now Monty has arrived with his ideas and attitudes, and is coming over to Rita’s. So is Brenda. Monty is being left to fend for himself. Good news all round, thinks Sidney.

After a difficult night, Sidney is not at his best first thing. He does what he can though, and says goodbye to Rita before heading off to the car-wash. He hopes she manages to have a better day. The Smash problem is worrying him quite a lot. It’s why he didn’t sleep much last night.

The car-wash is unchanged from Sidney’s visit yesterday with one exception. Screech is perched on the TV aerial, waiting for him.

“Good morning,” says Screech. “I have to say I’ve been looking forward to today. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be back in business by the start of next week.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling good,” replies Sidney, “because I feel like shit.” He explains about Monty to an amazed owl.

"Not good,” Screech comments once Sidney has finished his story. “Are you sure you want to carry on with this now, or do you want to do it another time?”

“Let’s do it now. It will take my mind off other things.”

The plan is simple. Essentially, all that is required is for Screech to be spotted in an area of the closed car-wash. It’s who spots him and what happens next that is important. However, as a precursor to being spotted, the car-wash needs to be suitably decorated first. Sidney takes one of the flyers he managed to remove from Grenville’s skip yesterday and, with Screech’s assistance, affixes it roughly to one of the metal gates. The flyer says ‘Opening Soon’. They try to do the same thing to the other gate, but a gust of wind blows the paper out of their claws. One sign will have to suffice. Sidney flies off.

In the sky, he begins the laborious task of watching pedestrians as they pass the car-wash. He’s looking for a suitable candidate before the plan commences. Finally, he spots a mother with young child on a stabiliser-attached bike walking and riding towards the car-wash. He descends and speaks to Screech, who immediately finds a wooden post near the entrance and perches on it, seemingly without a care in the world. Mother and child start to pass the car-wash. Screech lives up to his name, causing both mother and child to look up in amazement.

The child says “look Mummy, a birdie.” The mother just thinks what on earth is an owl doing there at this time of the day?

She turns to her son and says “do you know what kind of birdie that is?” Screech plays along, trying to say the word ‘owl’ to the child. It comes out as a screech. If anything, this makes the scenario even better. The mother begins to wonder if the bird can understand her as she gets out her mobile phone to take a picture.

In the meantime, Sidney is back in the sky. He’s looking for a suitable vehicle to unload the mother of all droppings onto. Part of his bad mood this morning has been due to the efforts he’s been having to make to keep this inside rather than outside where it belongs. Preferably on a patio or garden furniture.

Screech and Sidney had debated what constituted a suitable vehicle throughout the previous afternoon. Eventually, they had decided by preference a council vehicle, with as a secondary option of a police car. In a perfect world it would be a news reporter’s vehicle, but it’s not a perfect world.

There’s a police car exiting the supermarket. Sidney can see him below. There’s a bit of a queue of traffic, so Sidney’s got plenty of time. He will only get one shot at it though as after that he’ll have run out of ammunition. He effortlessly glides down through the sky until he reaches the optimum position at the optimum time. Straining slightly, his bomb-doors open and the largest quantity of pigeon-poo he’s ever released drops like a stone onto the police car windscreen. A direct hit! Sidney is relieved in more than one way.

Police Sergeant Ecclestone is driving the vehicle. He’s just enjoyed a takeaway fry-up and he’s feeling pretty good. Then, out of nowhere, the whole of his windscreen becomes covered in what looks to be bird-shit in an instant. This happens just as he’s turning into slow-moving traffic. He can’t see anything at all in front of him. Of all things to collide with then, it had to be a fully loaded bloody hearse on its way to a funeral.

The traffic stops. People get out of their cars and start taking photos before asking if everyone is OK. It’s a one-way street. Chaos quickly ensues. PS Eccleston gets on the blower to control asking for emergency assistance. The occupants of the hearse begin crying. There is one exception. He went elsewhere a few days ago and is beyond emotion.

In the local newspaper office, word of what has happened quickly gets out. The Editor asks Phillippa (2 ‘l’s; 2 ‘p’s) to investigate ASAP. Off she goes, on foot as the traffic is snarled up everywhere by now. Some fifteen minutes after the accident, she reaches the scene. It is indeed chaos. She’s never seen a windscreen so full of bird guano. She wonders if it was from an albatross. Looking for somewhere to take photos and interview witnesses, she spots the mother and child. She walks over to them outside the closed car-wash.

The mother and child had been marvelling at the eccentric behaviour of Screech when the accident happened. He’d been making poses, happy to be photographed by the mother of an increasingly excited child. Horns blared as drivers realised they were unable to move. Anger turned to amusement when they saw it was a police car that caused the accident. Amusement turned to annoyance when they saw the vehicle the police car had hit, and what was inside it.

The story Phillippa obtained made a couple of the dailies, desperate for news that wasn’t Covid-related. She persuaded the mother of the child to sell her some of the photos she’d taken of Screech, including one really impressive one showing a metal gate with a sign on it as well. She herself had seen the owl before it mysteriously vanished. It was turning into a good day for her.

Later on, it had turned into a good day for Sidney and Screech too. The plan had worked much better than either had anticipated, helped to a large degree by a fight that had broken out in the road between an undertaker’s assistant and one of the policeman. It had degenerated into something normally seen in a wild-west saloon, a point made to PS Eccleston at great length during a bad-tempered debrief with his boss the next day.

The story featured in the late night bulletins under the ‘light relief from Covid misery’ banner. Ray saw it and recognised his car-wash in the background, plus Screech in the foreground. The sign on the metal gate suggested someone was about to gazump his property, so he was back at the farm double-quick with plans to re-open the next day if possible. In fact, he had to wait until the start of the next week for a variety of reasons, but that’s another story. He never got to the bottom of the ‘Opening Soon’ sign.

Sidney arrived back at the roost late that evening. He’d gone out for several celebratory trays of seed with Screech at a few of the open-bird establishments locally, quite forgetting the promise he made to Rita to sort out Monty the next day. When he explained himself to her, Rita immediately understood. It turned out she’d had a good day too. Meeting up with Brenda and taking Florrie out was just what she needed.

At breakfast the next day Rita speaks clearly and concisely to Sidney. “Do not lose your temper. Try to be understanding – you were young once. Remember Florrie still has to live there with him. Don’t cock everything up!”

Sidney nods his head. After the excesses of the previous day, it’s the last thing he wants to do, but a promise is a promise. It’s what Cyril would have wanted him to do. He considers his options as he flies at a leisurely pace over to Florrie’s roost. None of them are particularly appealing. He’ll just have to see how things develop.

As he approaches the roost, it’s obvious something is going on. There are a dozen or so older woodpigeons hanging around, trying not to look conspicuous. He can’t see Florrie though. He begins to worry. He lands as close as he can to the roost and strides forwards purposefully. A wing is placed across his path, blocking his way. Sidney looks up and discovers the wing belongs to Woodpigeon Constable Nightingale, another bird with good reason to dislike her parents.

“It’s a crime scene, Sidney. You can’t go in.”

“Is Florrie OK?” Sidney says quickly. “It’s only a few days since her Cyril passed.”

“Florrie is fine,” replies the WPC. “She’s receiving emotional support from our Special Branch at the moment.”

“Emotional support for what?” Sidney can’t help asking.

“Her brother Monty has been found dead. Whilst fowl play (deliberate) isn’t suspected, a quick search of the roost when we arrived revealed a quantity of Smash in his nest. Off the record, Sidney, I think the Smash was too pure. A bad batch possibly? It killed Monty.”

Over the next few days, a number of younger woodpigeons are found dead in similar circumstances. It took the gloss off what had been a good period for Sidney. He decides to tell Rita about the holiday idea. All of a sudden he needs to plan to get away. Hopefully, once the car-wash business sorts itself out. Perhaps Robin would be interested in helping him.