A Tale of Two Pigeons. Fitzalan Square. The Third Sunday of Advent. (A short story)

St Vinny's "loft"

(There's an audio version of this at: https://www.1889books.co.uk/a-tale-of-two-pigeons-fitzalan-squa )

- Nah then, Darren, a’reight?

- Ey up! Is that Kev? Bloody hell, Kev. How’s it blowin’, lad?

- Sound mate, yeah.

- Not seen thi for yonks.

- I’ve been nowhere mate – just mi ol’ territory. Where’s tha been?

- Well, we ’ad to clear out of St. Vinny’s. Proper loft that were, but the upright pigs moved in and cleared us aht.

- Oh ar, I heard about that – didn’t they murder innocent eggs?

- Yeah, ’orrible it were. Smashed nests an’ everything. So me an’ t’ lads went up ’illsborough after Tramlines to clean up. It were a reight good scoff – should’ve been there, mate.

- All t’ decent lofts are disappearing, these days. What were it at St Vinny’s? Not more bloody student lofts were it?

-  Ar, reckon so.

-  Dun’t they build owt else? I were at Wharneliffe Works for a bit, then the upright pigs came and started blocking up the flights. Bastards!

- Ar... Bastards!

- I’ve gorra reight pad in the Old Town Hall nah.

- Nice. I might try gerrin’ in t’ Winter Gardens for the neet, me. Love it in theer. Burr it’s tricky gerrin’ in…. What tha had for thi tea?

- Good old Greggs’ pasty – only a tad squashed an’ all. Not bad pickings the neet. What about tha?

- Pizza vomit up West Street outside Nando’s. Allus decent pickings up theer this time of year.

- Ar. True enough.

- Ar....... Tha still seeing that Debs?

- Nah, mate. She copped it, poor lass.

- Oh, ar? Whar ’appened?

- We were having a scoff – load of noodles spilt on t’ floor outside Yep Yep Hotpot and this bloody falcon swoops dahn an’ nabs her an’ carries her off up t’ top o’ St George’s.

- Shame that.

- Ar. Tha don’t wanna go near theer – student leftovers or no. Still… plenty more pigeons in t’ sky, as my ol’ ma used to say. An’ I’ve still gorr’ it. I can still puff my chest out and strut my stuff. I might have a stumpy foot burr everythin’ else works; know what I mean?

- Here, does that old fella still tip aht a carrier bag o’ bread at t’ top of Angel Street?

- Ar, sometimes. Reight scoff that.

- Reight scoff! Bit like that up Hillsborough wi’ loads o’ duck bread… ’ere, I’m just goin’ up for a traditional festive crap on ol’ Eddie’s head. Tha coming?

- Don’t mind if I do. Honourin’ the old traditions and that pasty’s on its way through.

-  Take that, Ed.

- Haha. Season’s greetings, Eddie.

- ’ere…. I thought summat were missing. What happened to all t’ trees, Kev? It were a reight cosy loft of a summer’s night ’ere. Many’s a lass I’ve cooed to up in them branches.

- Bloody upright pigs weren’t it. Chopped ’em dahn – just to spite us I reckon – can’t be no other reason. Made a reight mess of it ’an’t they.

- What they gorr against trees?

- Buggered if I know. Bastards!

- Ar. Bastards..... Here, Kev – dahn theer! Them upright pigs are chuckin’ summat dahn.

-  Bloody hell, it’s mince pies – I’m on it. Landing gear engaged!

- Wait – I love a mince pie, me.

- I’ll be well set up for Chrimbo nah, Daz. I were going to go for a bit of a race round wi’ t’ gang over t’ Crown Court, burr I’m not sure I’ll be able to move after this lot.

-  Kev! It’s gone dark, Kev!

- I can’t move, Daz. I’m trapped!

- It’s not that Falcon is it?

- No it’s...

- K–

- Oh I say two nice fat ones. That’s Christmas dinner sorted, Nigel: pan-fried pigeon breasts served with a red wine jus, fondant potatoes, celeriac puree, asparagus foam and pea shoots!