There’s also the tale of a 1970s truck crash. A lorry carrying crates of parakeets to a pet shop overturned on the M4 motorway. Birds went everywhere. Poof—instant London colony. It’s dramatic, but there’s no police report to back it up. Still, it’s a better story than “someone’s grandma left a cage open.”
And my personal favorite? The “They escaped from the set of The Birds” theory. No, not the Hitchcock film (that was in California). There was a stage production of The Birds in London in the 1960s. Did a flock of actors’ stand-ins get free? Nobody knows, but it’s fun to imagine.
Secret Feasts: a guide to Kentish Town's food scene - Kentishtowner
Why Does It Matter?
Honestly, does it? The parakeets aren’t leaving. There are now over 30,000 of them in Greater London. They’re loud, messy, and they bully the poor pigeons. They’re basically the tourists who never went home. But they’ve become a part of the city’s weird, wonderful character.
You can’t walk through Kensington Gardens without hearing that iconic screech. It’s as London as a red double-decker bus, if the bus was drunk and painted by a child on caffeine. The mystery of who let them out is now a local legend.
We’ll probably never know the real answer. And you know what? That’s perfect. It’s a little secret the city keeps, like a friend who won’t tell you where they got that amazing jacket. The parakeets are here. They’re thriving. And the anxiety of “who did this?” is just part of the fun.
So next time you hear that loud, obnoxious squawk above a Pret A Manger, just smile. Give a nod to Hendrix. Curse George Michael. Blame that truck driver. Or just accept the chaos. After all, in a city full of history, a little green anarchy is the most British thing ever.
