PURPLE SH*T

When the wood-pigeons round our way are not courting, mating, breeding, or sleeping, they are feeding.


Eating at one end has consequences at the other. Most of the year these consequences are more or less off-white. That I can tolerate, except when it lands on me.
But now -


IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN!


PURPLE BERRIES ARE RIPE OR RIPENING!

That's why my hands are stained purple from harvesting and processing blackberries etc. The pigeons don't seem to go much for the blackberries, but they love the fruit of the elder (Sambucus Nigri).

Oh the joy of large deposits of purple bird faeces on the places where we walk or on the car. Even now I can see wood pigeons gorging themselves on the ripening berries of the elder tree just over the garden wall.

I study their subsequent flight patterns carefully.


Purple poo bombing raids on our car are all part of the fun en route to their post-prandial perch. Washing off the sh*t is my task.

I like elderberries. Today I don't like pigeons.

Now where's the neighbour with a shotgun when you need him?

There's an old saying that the English summer begins when the elder flowers open and ends when the elder berries ripen. An equally reliable saying is 'when bird poo turns purple you know that autumn is near'.