Dearly beloved, I have come here today to write in defence of pigeons. Specifically, feral pigeons, those modern descendants of the domesticated type. Wood and other wild pigeons are fine and all that, but I do not speak of them here. Feral pigeons, or pidgepots as I like to call them, are some of the most memorable birds that one is likely to encounter in a grimy inner-city environment. I should know, given that I spend at least an hour every day feeding them. My love of pidgerooskis started unintentionally. As I have elsewhere reported, I accidentally installed Pigeon TV from the Lidl in my flat a few years ago. Whilst I have moved onto a direct feeding mechanism (i.e. my hand out the window and/or seeds left on the windowsill), Pigeon TV enabled me to form a lasting bond with three pigeons in particular: Axe Neck, Brownie, and Whitey. However,
