Ban beastly brats - not the pigeons they torment

I have been thumped before - by enraged artists and by Norman Rosenthal, the excitable exhibitions secretary of the Royal Academy - but this time it will come about thus.

I shall be on my way to the National Gallery, crossing what is now its forecourt, and among the few pigeons taking refuge there after expulsion from the square itself by the self-admiring Mayor, I shall, with deadly menace in my eye and voice, shout "Stop it!" at an unleashed child - whereupon, after a brief, insulting and obscenely curse-laden altercation, the thump will be delivered by a loutish parent.

I have already shouted "Stop it!" several times with fully outstretched arm, the apparition terrifyingly effective. But the reaction of the parent is so aggressive that no reasonable exchange can then take place - the parent is, of course, not identifiable until after I have interfered with the child's freedom to do the deed that I find so objectionable. This is the mindless dash into the midst of the few pathetic pigeons gathered in search of crumbs and the spiteful pursuit of those that do not flee, and the vicious kicking and stamping that must once in a while break a wing or leg or even crush a pigeon, while indulgent parents look on and occasionally encourage their beastly little brats.

At home, are these infant Caligulas allowed to kick their dogs and cats, pull the wings off their canaries, or stand tip-toe on their tortoises? In their local parks do they chuck half bricks at the swans or catapult the squirrels? To all these questions the answer is surely no. What then gives these parents licence to let loose their marauding sprogs to break the bones of pigeons in Trafalgar Square? To this they offer the excuse that they have been encouraged by Ken Livingstone's frothing-at-the-mouth campaign against these amiable and intelligent city birds.

Is Trafalgar Square a hygienic haven of peace now that they have been banished? No. It is a mayhem of ghastly music, advertisement and any old carnival that Livingstone and his barkers bring to town. And is the square cleaner? I'd wager that the cost of removing chewing-gum trodden into the pavement is far greater than that of collecting the environmentally rich droppings of the pigeons, for which any green gardener is grateful.

And one last point: I like feeding pigeons. Who gave Livingstone the power to deprive me of my right to do so? What next? No bread for the ducks in public parks? The pigeons in Trafalgar Square will continue to get the remnants of my sandwiches from Pret-A-Manger; next time I go there I shall expect not only the parental thump but immediate arrest by Livingstone's police.