You could hear them before you could see them.

It was just after the last race had run and the punters had left the lawn along the track to reveal what lay beneath: rubbish. And lots of it.

And they were coming for it.

Their cries were heard over the drunken whoops and then, you could hear their beating wings. Seagulls! Hundreds of them, descended from the sky like a Hitchcock horror film, swooping on the leftovers, causing remaining revellers to squeal and duck for cover.