That pigeon has it coming....

How is this fair? Flat mate returns home to another (obviously sleeping) flatmate who's room is next to the bathroom. Flat mate decides to embark on mobile phone conversation at 12.37 a.m., in said echoey bathroom, at no small volume thus effectively WAKING THE DEAD.

Now I'm left with nothing to consider except how fast the wind speed is outside (hard to tell, our shabby double glazing doesn't fit the window panes so anything above a breeze conjures up an image of a tornado) AND how many ways there might be to kill the cooing pigeon sat on its feathery nest outside my window in the middle of the night.

Do birds not usually sleep at night? Why must it coo when its dark? I did think at first that it was the rusty gate or the pizza shop sign blowing in the wind, but after closer investigation (poking head out of window, clapping and shouting at pidge) I have discovered that he alone is the culprit responsible for the prolonging of my sleep deprivation.

A few weeks ago, M was in the supermarket, talking about my pidge dilemma, when someone came up to her with a solution... apparently you have to mix up some bird seed with milk and some ex-lax. Pidge eats, pidge gets ill, pidge dies. Easy as.

Now, I'd like to say that I'm pro all forms of wild fauna, but that would be a lie. I could kill the pidge with my bare hands, if I could only reach it from my window sill. Alas, the ex-lax option is looking like a viable solution.

Flat mate is back in bed, several slams of door later (ably assisted by the draft from poorly fitting windows - the best friend of all teenagers making dramatic door-slamming exits during a strop). I wonder what was so important she needed to call someone at 12.37.

Now there is a _slight_ problem with my pidge-murdering master plan... I live in a busy commercial area of town, near shops and restaurants, several floors up. Whether I were to select the ex-lax version of the plan or the BB gun alternative, I couldn't say for sure I could control precisely _where_ the pidge may plummet to its death... which means it could be on the head or at the feet of some unassuming pedestrian, out to buy their milk.

Given the illegality of my intended action (all wild birds are protected), it could be difficult to conceal the fruits of my labour and the evidence of my crime. Even if I did manage to kill an ambitious 35 of the 40 or so pidgeons behavingly like cast members of a Hitchock film, the only place to dispose of the bodies is a commercial dumpster our flat shares with the other restaurants and shops.... eew.

17 minutes past 2. I've just remembered that someone told me you can actually hire a sniper in my town - to pop off the pidges... he's licensed and comes with a gun dog, police protection and a letter of authorisation from environmental health. I love it when a plan comes together ;o)