The humble pigeon is a creature of pestilence generally. It is called a rat with wings but really carries more chances of disease than the average rat. It also much more stupid; you will often see a pigeon with a mangled foot or broken wing - how often do you see a lame rat? The average pigeon will annoy commuters, cooing around their ankles tempting a chance kick only to hop out of reach at the last minute. They will crowd those trying to get a bit of fresh air with their lunch, the one time you would not want to be surrounded by pigeons. They cover all available space with grey guano, ruining the vista for everyone. They are nothing but pests. La Paloma Del Diabolo is in a league of its own.
I had to power walk to have a hope of catching my train (I decided to try to catch an earlier train than usual to avoid the half term squeeze. South West Trains have decided that the half 6 train only needs 3 carriages instead of the usual 6 for this week. No idea why, its ridiculous). I wore flats, heels stashed in my shoulder bag, to give me a little extra pace. Unfortunately the traffic lights were against me and the train was pulling into the station as I crossed the overpass. La Paloma was waiting.
La Paloma is the pigeon who craps on your shoulder on the way to the biggest meeting of your year. It is the bird that tempts the favourite pet to run out in front of the speeding teenager that second too late to swerve. It is the one that carries the bubonic plague only to infect a rat as a smear campaign. And this Devil Pigeon was waiting underneath the overpass for me.
As I jogged lightly and classily (read ran like a crazy person) La Paloma Del Diabolo waited. Waited until I had reached ultimate velocity to scuttle out in front of me. It didn't fly away, no, it stopped, looked me in the eye and shifted so that it was directly under my foot. Me, my laptop, polystyrene cup full of branded coffee and the rest of my life (handbag) went a*se over tit over Devil Pigeon. I used my latent rugby skills (I played once upon a teen) and dived, saving my laptop and avoiding a coffee coloured disaster. Pencil Skirts were not designed for such a move. My Pencil Skirt shredded itself.
The train passed me still trying to pick up my life from the gum covered floor. Thus I had to wait an hour for the next overcrowded train, flashing my underwear through my disintegrating skirt. Needless to say my dignity was as tattered as my clothes.
And La Paloma? Once I had fallen, its plan complete, it fluttered away, unscathed.
I can only say this was karma for taking pleasure in @legalbizzle's lack of holiday enjoyment this morning. That or La Paloma Del Diabolo has a vendetta against me.
This is a warning for all of you - La Paloma Del Diabolo is out there. Waiting.
P.S those of you who are thinking 'Paloma? That means dove in Spanish, that's why so many women are called that' you are right to an extent. Spanish doesn't differentiate between pigeons and doves, they are both paloma. SO all you Paloma's might be fooled into thinking you are named after the bird of peace. Another ploy of La Palomo Del Diabolo - your name means flying rat. Ha.
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