As I type, I can’t see them but I can hear them. Circling. Scheming. The sound is more piercing than an ambulance siren, more haunting than a banshee’s shriek. Just as new parents find it nigh-on impossible to ignore their offspring’s wails, so this ungodly racket cannot be brushed over or blocked out. No: the never-ending sonic backdrop to life by the sea must simply be endured.
I am talking about seagulls. Or gulls, I should say, if we’re being ornithologically accurate (a stint working for the RSPB in my twenties taught me that there’s no such thing as a “seagull”, a generic term that encompasses various different species). Much I want to be a lover of all God’s creatures, great and small, there’s a special place in Room 101 I reserve for this nemesis-in-bird’s-clothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a specific tenth circle of hell where they just flap around with impunity, squawking and causing havoc.
I’m not saying they’re evil, per se. But I’m not not saying that, either. Which is why I feel weirdly vindicated that science has now backed up my base instinct to scream at them whenever they get within 10 yards of me.
Yes, as much as we love telling each other to “Just breathe” and “Count to 10” when anger strikes, staying calm isn’t the best strategy when faced with a feathered bully who’s trying to make off with your chips. A new study has found that herring gulls can tell the difference between a man speaking calmly and shouting in anger, regardless of volume – and that they are much more likely to retreat if the human in question is audibly hacked off.
And there’s just so much to be hacked off about. I never used to think about gulls all that much, but things drastically changed when I made the move to the coast three years ago. Being surrounded by the enemy may have made them more quotidian, but it’s done nothing to dampen the feelings of enmity they inspire. Especially on bin day when, every week without fail, they gouge their way through plastic sacks and leave garbage strewn about the streets, creating a temporary apocalyptic wasteland reminiscent of Mad Max.
We all have a traumatic story, of course, about that time we went to the seaside and were just about to happily tuck into a battered cod/sausage roll/pasty/99 Flake (delete as appropriate) when an ivory assassin swooped down and swiped it. I’ve seen children left empty-handed and sobbing; I’ve watched grown men be reduced to tears. There is nothing quite so outrageous, audacious, or downright brazen as a gull’s thievery. No other bird even comes close.
There is nothing quite so outrageous, audacious, or downright brazen as a gull’s thievery
In Folkestone, where I live, I’ve seen one literally stand on the mat outside a local shop to open the automatic doors, strut in, pinch a grab bag of McCoy’s crisps (flame grilled steak flavour, in case you were wondering), waltz out and proceed to peck it open and start eating it in the middle of a busy road – bringing traffic to a standstill in the process. At a certain point, it no longer feels merely entitled. It feels malicious: the behaviour of an anarchic despot drunk on their own power, smashing through the rules that govern society like a wrecking ball just because they can.
OK, yes, I do sound a bit mad. But you would too if you’d witnessed what I have over the last few years. There was the time a friend was forced to literally move house because the gulls would assemble at 4am every morning outside his window, screeching their eardrum-assaulting chorus and not letting up for the next three hours. There was the time one of my best mates was on her way to a coffee date, having freshly washed her hair and donned a new outfit, only to be s*** on so extensively that a stranger pulled over and asked if she needed assistance in wiping the guano from her eyes. Like I said: I’m not not saying they’re evil.
I know, a lot of this uncouth behaviour is humans’ fault – we’ve destroyed habitats and overfished to the point that these sea birds have been forced to adapt to survive. But that’s little consolation when a gull has ruined yet another fish supper, made your child cry or gone in for such an aggressive attack that you fear for your safety.
At least now we can yell at them without feeling too guilty.
