Feathered SAS (Shite Aiming Seagulls)

You could have fried eggs on the pavement during the heatwave in the UK this summer..though it was the longest lasting heatwave I ever remember. Not that I’m complaining, of course. Having recently moved close to the beach, it was absolutely amazing to be able to walk to the shore, strip off and bask in the sunshine, that has been pretty much the way this summer was, apart from the odd drop of the wet stuff….until those feckin shingle bells came back and took my summer away.

Like anything else, there’s the pros and cons of both the good weather and being close to the beach. The latter has cost me a fortune in car washes, thanks to the coastal feathered fiends, seagulls. Those little feckers seem to think that cars are the best place on which to fire their poop. I say fire because I’m convinced the seagulls near us are SAS trained and my car is target practice. It’s bright red and must shine like a beacon as they fly overhead squawking day or night. I can almost hear their calls of ‘aim, fire!!’ being squawked from the skies.

The SAS or Shite Aiming Seagulls also appear to have other skills, one of which involves this swooping army winching down individually on invisible ropes outside coffee shops and restaurants and quicker than you can say ‘noooohhhh’, take whatever they fancy, from your plate, using their large claws. They then whoosh back up as if to an imaginary gullicopter but likely back to their nests, where all their hungry baby gulls are . However, some just fly off to join fellow specially trained pooh dropping swooping, winching thieving aviators to greedily devour their spoils.

I have fallen foul of these thieving aviators more than once…the first two sneaky sods weren’t SAS trained, they were likely insurgents, a sandwich on both occasions, different cafe locations. I was only a rookie then, had no combat experience so likely had a look of shock and dismay on my face, all at once. Though I do recall recounting my experience to the nice lady behind the counter of the cafe after the second ambush and explaining how I could now have the cake in my hand with only half the guilt as I hadn’t got to finish my sandwich. Bless her, she told me to have the cake for free and enjoy it, which I did, looking around furtively for the enemy as I braved the sunshine again to finish my tea (thanks be to Jesus they don’t drink tea). Where these gulls prevail, you most definitely cannot have your cake and eat it!!

It was on the third occasion that I had the SAS encounter…there I was, different coffee shop, opposite side of the square, new territory for me, great vantage point for checking out the enemy. Holding the brown tray, complete with generic white plate containing one deliciously naughty chocolate, custard filled donut, white cup and saucer, accompanied by a pot of tea, together with a small jug of milk, I furtively looked to the right and left of the proposed location for easy consumption of said piece of yumminess with minimal risk of enemy attack. Easing my ample bottom onto the seating at the carefully chosen spot, placing the tray on the chrome table, I proceeded to lift the pot towards my cup. No sooner had the scalding brown liquid begun flowing from the spout, than large claws descended from somewhere above my head, freezing me to the spot, teapot in hand, cup overflowing as I watched in utter shock and dismay, the skill and speed with which my tasty treat was winched up by the enemy. My face must have been an absolute picture to those lucky individuals who were feasting on their own yummy confectionary. Likely locals, long used to seagull shenanigans.

From that day to this, I have never fallen foul of a seagull, where food is concerned. However, I have met a foul seagull, the colour of his feathers indicating that he was not yet an adult gull, though he was most definitely a teenager, all mouth and attitude. If seagulls work out, this guy was a prime specimen, he practically had biceps on his wingspan. I reckon he was just waiting to be of age to join the gull forces.

Gull boy was hanging out in the local park with his feathered gull buddies as my friend and I approached a picnic table with children of various ages in tow. Having secured skates on the older two and sent them on their way, skating around the park, with a five year old running alongside them, we had one year old twins to settle while we got our picnic out. As one of the absolutely adorable twins dropped some food on the ground, quick as a flash a covert op ensued. Gull boy trotted nonchalantly by, appearing to take a stroll in the park, then suddenly, without warning, he ducked under the seating of the picnic table, snatching the food in his large beak and not seeing the need to fly away, being a gull with attitude (a teen gull one might say), he just ran at his gull mates, who were standing by waiting to share the spoils. Gull boy raised his wings and spread them wide as he charged at the surprised feathered group of his peers, some of whom looked to be adult gulls and flew off into the air food intact, to savour alone.

The two unidentical bundles of squishiness, were highly amused by all the gull action and loud chuckles could be heard as they watched gull boy’s antics. The sassy seagull was not to be deterred by the older children running at himself and his cronies, to keep them away from the picnic. Like a stealth bomber, having already flown off with his pickings, gull boy silently swooped in for more action as the picnic was carefully taken from the basket and laid out on the wooden tabletop. The twins were only short of holding up the goodies to the feathered fiend as he squawked from above and whooshed in over us. Nervously I ducked, latterly realising his target was a chocolate cake one of the twins had dropped.

Our picnic continued with adults on sentry duty, kids tucking in and seagulls huddled together likely discussing manoeuvres for their next food invasion. Feeling a tad smug for having outwitted the enemy, safeguarding my food from their greedy claws, I enjoyed the rest of the afternoon, picnic safely tucked away, children entertained, enjoying a chin wag with my lovely friend. Much later, I gathered my tired duo (awesome grandkids), together with all of their paraphernalia and trudged back to the car to make the journey home. Suddenly, I was stopped in my tracks as my grandson pointed to my vehicular treasure and gasped ‘Nana, someone has splattered white paint all over your car’. There was my shiny red car, not looking so shiny, or even red any more. Foul fowl excrement covered practically ever inch of my car, it was like pooh on wheels. If this was an SAS attack , it was a huge operation, with reinforcements, such was the extent of the ammunition delivered. Just as those thoughts were running through my mind, I heard a loud squawk and looked towards the park. There on the very picnic table where we had been sitting, stood Gull Boy, raising himself to his full height, stretching his bicepped wings and if a bird could smirk, that was the expression on his face, the message loud and clear. This bird was no gull boy, he was the undercover General of the SAS!!

Photo by Phil Botha on Unsplash