Driving with Angry Birds

I'd consider myself to be something of a bird lover. I gladly renew my RSPB membership each year and try to make a point of ensuring the bird feeders in the garden are topped up with seeds. I don't go as far as wandering around the countryside with a pair of binoculars, but I try to take care of our feathered friends.

So why on God's earth do they seem intent on sending me to an early grave? There are already enough hazards on the road to contend with, so I could do without adding the little birds to the list. I mean, I can just about cope with the odd tractor emerging from a hedgerow, a slow moving Honda Jazz, a wild animal or the ever increasing number of potholes, but one more hazard might just tip me over the edge.

My daily commute has been turned into something of a real life version of Angry Birds, only it isn't me launching the birds into space. Instead I'm being faced with a onslaught of avian missiles coming at me from all angles. Sparrows may be small, but my word do they make you jump when they suddenly appear from the verge and fly across the road only inches from your front bumper. Don't get me started on blackbirds either, their tactic seems to be one of flying across your bonnet and then over your windscreen. I actually ducked last night, which is rather stupid and embarrassing when you consider the fact that I don't drive a convertible.

Then there's the humble woodpigeon. I rather like the cooing call that the bird makes, it reminds me of lazy summer days and sunshine. But what I don't particularly like is the way in which they stay rooted to the tarmac and leave it to the very last minute before taking flight. There you are, approaching the woodpigeon at 60mph and you're thinking it will move...it is going to move...IT WILL MOVE....MOVE YOU BLOODY BIRD and then, at the very last minute, it takes off. But does it take off quickly? No, it rises to the air as if it has two glass paperweights attached to its feet, leaving you to breathe a sigh of relief as it misses the front of the car by millimetres.

And don't think that the starling is any better. They've always amused me for their greased-back, gangster-like appearance, but quite frankly, I don't want to be staring at their bottoms just inches from my windscreen. Their little game seems to be centred on flying just in front of the car and seeing how long they can last before the car catches them up. Right at the last minute, they double back on themselves, do a couple of somersaults and disappear into the countryside. I'm pretty sure they give a cheeky wink before they go. Very clever little starlings, but if I wanted an aerobatic display, I'd hire the Red Arrows.

It is all becoming too much for me. My heart was beating faster last night than the time I was forced into an emergency stop whilst following a Triumph TR6 around the Nürburgring. Can you please take your feeding and flying lessons away from the road? There are some delightful mealworms and black sunflower seeds on the bird table in the garden and, more importantly, I'm not driving 1,500kg of metal in there.

Sadly I have to report that I hit one of your kind when I was reviewing the Honda CR-Z and all I could think about for the rest of the day was a nest full of hungry chicks who were unlikely to be fed that night. Or ever. It made me sad.

So for the sake of my heart and your life, stop playing chicken with me, eh? Failing that, why not grab yourself a copy of the Green Cross Code. Cheers.

Image courtesy of Andreas Trepte