Well I’m sorry to say that I have been prompted to write this post following yet another visit to put rubbish in the bin. (see Plastic Pots, Potato Peelings and Pearls posted on the fifth of September)

The Prime Minister has spoken recently about tackling the threat posed by that traditional symbol of the British seaside, the friendly neighbourhood seagull. His remarks follow murderous attacks on a defenceless Yorkshire terrier and a tortoise that was too slow to get out of the way in time.

Well I can tell you that I have plenty of history with these marauding, defecating peck monsters. So much so that even today I was unable to put the bag of rubbish in the bin without it being attacked by two of them.

My first encounter was on a school trip years ago when one of the lovelies decided to paint a Jackson Pollock on my forehead from a great height. Since then several others have attempted to repeat the feat, but the closest they have got is my jacket shoulder. I have discovered recently that my poor car has also become an ideal blank canvas for their artistic skills. Unfortunately it is no longer a blank canvas because I can’t afford to have it cleaned every day. It does allow them to build up layer upon layer of colour and I am looking forward to seeing the finished product someday soon.

My second gripe with them: why do they have to do their choir practice at four thirty in the morning? They can’t even sing anyway. They should give up and return to their day jobs.

And finally let me tell you about the famous chip encounter in Llandudno a few years ago. I was sitting on a bench, eating my fish and chips and looking out to sea, enjoying the view. Well I’m not used to pulling birds but I swear that this one was checking me out and eyeing me up. It was acting coyly, pretending not to be staring at me but I can tell you that it had its eye on me. And then there was what can only be described as a frenzied, bloody chip murder. It flew sideways at me, skilfully flicked up my bag of greasy chips and, with the help of its violent mates, it polished them off in seconds. It was the Von Schlieffen plan executed to perfection by a flock of seagulls. As an aside the eponymously named 80’s band had a song called I Ran. They must surely have tried to eat their chips in peace in Llandudno one day too.

Forgive me for thinking that a full gull cull is far from bull.  

©Cre8ivation