Pigeon Man tops the pecking order

THE Pigeon Man of Bounds Green station wears a jumper three sizes too big, and it droops over him like a cape, but he doesn’t care because it has a deeper, sentimental meaning. It once belonged to his mum. She died when he was 30 years old, and that’s the only thing she left behind. She died in dire straits, not a penny to her name, just a jumper, a long, dirty old jumper, filled with holes. It was passed down to her by her mum, who also had it passed down to her, by her mum — his great-gran. The Pigeon Man sits at Bounds Green Tube station wrapped up in his big old jumper. It looks like a comfort blanket; maybe it is. The pigeons scatter at his feet, pecking away at the little bread balls he rolls with his fingers. He names them as he tries to divide the bread equally so that each pigeon gets a fair share of food. ‘That’s Betty Soot, she’s only got one foot.’ He tries to make small talk as the busy commuters rush past him on their way to work. No one has time to stop and talk, not to him. He doesn’t care about making new friends, he has all he needs wrapped around him, feeding at his feet. The holes in his jumper become shelters for the birds, making themselves a nest, safe and warm, close to the Pigeon Man’s chest.

Chris Wild, enfield, Middlesex.