My name’s Pete. I’m the pigeon you’ll often see perched on the gravestones in St Helen’s churchyard. And before you say anything, no, I didn’t choose it because it’s holy. I chose it because it’s high, safe, and I can balance here. The local cats can’t bother me.

Now, about the foot. Probably the first thing you noticed. It’s bent up. Doesn’t hurt anymore. Doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t define me. Every pigeon in Abingdon knows: you’re not a proper town-centre bird until you’ve lost a toe, some feathers, or had a near miss with an e-scooter.

I misjudged a landing and ended up tangled in some orange mesh that twisted round me. I got out, but the foot didn’t come out too well. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a wing.

Being hit by a car or a truck is worse. A bad foot just slows you down. It’s not the end.

From up here I can see everything: dropped chips, lost ice-cream cornets, and the homo sapiens who think we pigeons need bread.

And I survive here. Bent foot. Near-on perfect body.

Attracting a female is a problem, though. My mating dance doesn’t hit the high notes. Some of the lads puff out their chests, strut about, and suddenly have an admirer cooing at them. I do my best: a hop, turn, wobble, flap. But it doesn’t bring the females out in raptures. Some of them are kind about it. But not kind enough to let me —

Hey. What’s going on there? Some homo sapien taking my photograph. Not even bird seed for it. Is it because of my foot?

I’m off!

Pigeon 1: “Tis a right roller coaster o’ a year. Folks ‘ave gone right barmy for them gulls.”

Pigeon 2: “Aye, they’ve been snatchin’ all the breadcrumbs right fae under our beaks.”

Pigeon 3: “Those rapacious gulls are nothing but purloining nuisances! They’re perpetually pilfering our food, it’s positively galling!”

Pigeon 4: “Always showing off with their dive-bombing stunts, like performing pets.”

Pigeon 5: “Strewth, like flying rats, more like! Pooping everywhere. Stealing our railing.”

Pigeon 1: “I tell ee wot, mate, I’d like to see Abingdon made a gull-free zone”

Pigeon 2: “Aye, noo you’re talking. Gull-free, gull-free!”

Pigeon 3: “They’re forever impeding our progress and generating a cacophony, it’s positively unbecoming”

Pigeon 4: “Squawking and screeching, it gives me a proper headache.”

Pigeon 5: “We’ve gotta do something about them.”

Pigeon 1: “Well, mate, we could start by educating folks about the importance of pigeons. Make ’em proud o’ our joint heritage together.”

Pigeon 2: “Aye! Make Abingdon a mair pigeon-friendly place.”

Pigeon 3: “I’m in wholehearted agreement with you there. And let the humans be aware that gulls are transmitters of avian influenza.”

Pigeon 4: “Let’s start spreading the word and get Abingdon gull-free.”

Pigeon 5: “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

‘We are on camera now.’

‘Cooo, So we are, Peggy… Welcome to Citizens Advice Bureau. What advice have we got for the citizens today, Peggy?’

‘I would advise them to keep bringing the grains, seeds, bread, and popcorn.’

‘Cooo, Very good advice, Peggy. And what have you seen this morning in town.’

‘It was very windy and I did see the People’s Vote tent nearly blown away.’

‘Cooo, That will be the Brexit Storm, no doubt, Peggy.’

‘I also flew down to check out Pablo Lounge. Too windy for anybody eating outside but there were pink balloons.’

‘Was it a party, Peggy?’

‘Yes Pablo Lounge is one year old today.’

‘Cooo, Happy Birthday Pablo Lounge! …Anything else?’

‘Well I did think of a riddle today.’

‘Cooo, lets have it, Peggy.’

‘Where do you find two Winters, no Spring, no Summer, and no Autumn?’

‘Sounds a cold sort of place Peggy. Is it in Abingdon?’

‘Fifteen seconds as a pigeon flies. Near Ask.’

‘Cooo! Thats a hard one. Shall we open it up to the citizens. Ask their advice, Peggy?’

‘Yes. Time to go! Bun Thrown at 45 degrees!’