Living in the pigeon community

There has been a kind of hiatus.

Owing to the fact that I can't use real names - and that the prison  service is utterly paranoid at the best of times - I can't give all details, in detail, but what it boiled down to was that I  was banned from going to see my pal Buddy. I haven't done anything wrong and neither have the people who own Buddy done anything remotely objectionable - unless you find honesty unsavoury. No, we have done everything above board - the problem seemed to be that we have been too honest. What it all meant, as I say, was that I could no longer go for my rides on Buddy - no doubt he was pleased that a lump like me wasn't climbing on his back any more doing John Wayne impressions.

The fact is, my days out were suspended BUT... I could go on home leave to a hostel full of junkies and chancers - THAT was fully acceptable! It seems that it is so that I can prove that I can be placed back into the community. WHAT community? I have no intention of getting into the community of ratbags, junkies, chancers and grafters - I've been living in such a community for over twenty­-six years, and that's enough. The community I want to go and live in is that of the decent, honest, hard-working family sort - such as that where Buddy lives.

So, I told them, if I have to go back to living in the community of the nether world of criminals, then I want to do it in the area where I am known and where I know everyone - or their fathers.

"No no no!" was the cry. "We don't want you to do that!"

"Neither do I," said I. "So, let me go where a good, honest, decent lot of people are fully ready to support me."

The outcome is that I have had all of my days out re-instated. I can go back to riding Buddy but part of the deal is that I have to go to the hostel for three days, starting tomorrow.

Now don't misunderstand me, I'm sure that the hostel and those responsible for it are perfectly well-intentioned, but what their clientele say to them and what they say to me are two different things. The last time I was there I had one comedian offering to supply me with new shirts at a quid each and a couple of others asking me if I wanted to buy myself a "fix". Oh yes, all manner of chancers lying to everyone in sight so that they can avoid a three month jail sentence.

Well, it's all sorted out now. I have got things back on track, which means that next weekend I will be re-acquainting myself with Buddy. I've got to go to the hostel for three days in between now and then, of course, but that's easily managed - I'll simply go and spend the days parked up somewhere quiet, in the cathedral or somewhere, and read a book, just spending my sleepless nights at the hostel.

On a more interesting note, I have now got thirty-six pigeons and one baby woodpigeon in my loft in the old stables - and I've got to say I prefer the pigeons to the people. At least when a pigeon shits on you it only makes a little mess - easily cleaned up too. The little woodie is getting a bit cheeky - it will insist on sitting and sleeping on my chair! Has it any idea how much trouble I went to to GET that comfy chair?

I have taken to sitting comfortably in my chair, the woodie on my knee having his head scratched while we listen to the rest of the pigeons cooing, fighting and getting amorous with each other. There are several pairs creating their own little nest now. The sounds are so peaceful that they have become soporific.

I sit there and can hear the birds cooing and the sheep bleating, along with pigs grunting nearby and distant farm noises, sunlight creeping in through the door of my loft. Is it any wonder that I doze off a little? It's better than listening to "Today in Parliament" as a sleeping draught.

So, I'm going to spend the rest of today, sitting in the afore­mentioned sun, out of the wind, slowly becoming comatose as I listen to the noises of the creatures around me. Much better than listening to some of the creatures I'll have to listen to when I get to the hostel, that's for sure.

The Voice In The Wilderness