A pigeon hit me in the face today.

I don’t mean with a bit of greenish-white poop from twenty feet.  I don’t mean a pigeon that is anything than the actual feathered avian kind.

I mean an actual pigeon flew directly into my face today as though shot from a cannon.


You think, ‘Fuck, I didn’t think that ever happened.’

You think, ‘Or is that bats?’

You are embarassed at the sheer blinding-white shit-your-pants-sudden pain that this small fluffy thing inflicted upon you.

You can’t quite believe it happened.

That’s what you think when a pigeon just flies up and, apparently not seeing you, apparently not having the good sense to watch where it’s fucking flying, or the decency to throw a polite ‘coooo’ your way before striking you, with all its velocity-amplified weight, on your left temple.

The sagacity of the thing.  Dirty little sky-rat.



I was actually dazed.  Have you ever been hit in the face by a football?  You know that all-your-face-at-once sudden crush and WHAP of being hit in the face by a football?

Exactly like that.

I got hit in the face by a cricket ball once.  It wasn’t nice.  It hurt a lot.

I’ve also been swimming with goggles and did that thing where you think the bottom of the tiled pool is a bit further away than it actually is.  That deep impression of hard rubber goggles around your eyes and the bridge of our bloody nose.

One time in the playground were we kicking a can of Coke around.  I think the idea was to distress the fizzy soda so badly that when we finally open the can, it would explode.  We kicked it around idly whilst taking, probably, about the merits of Final Fantasy VIII on the PS1.  Unbeknownst to me, my friend Lloyd, at least I think it was Lloyd, had hurled it up into the air with considerable strength.  My other friend Robert, at least I think it was Robert, stopped talking and look at me with slightly widened eyes.

‘Watch out,’ he said.

I didn’t know what he was on about.  So I didn’t watch anything.

I don’t think I’ve ever had real concussion, but I bloody well know what it feels like to be hit in the head by a pigeon.

It bent my glasses completely out of shape.

That or it bent my face completely out of shape.

Glasses are pretty robust nowadays.


Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars,
compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good
health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed
interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your
friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a
three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing
game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose
rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable
home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up
brats you spawned to replace yourself. 

Choose your future.

Choose life.