Seagulls, things about seagulls, read on…..
Mr x can bore for Britain on seagulls, he likes to point out that what the average person like me thinks is a seagull, is something like a gannet. Riveting stuff, and oh so useful to know.
When I was a teenager I had a pet seagull called George. Ok I use the term "pet" rather losely here. He was a normal wild seagull who hung round outside our house and pecked at the window etc. I would of course feed him scraps and he would do the seagully thing, make lots of noise and lots of poo. This did not endear me to my parents as my room was directly above the porch. His biggest moment came when he actually recognised me outside and (joy of joys) landed on my arm. I was beside myself with excitement, alas so was George and deposited said excitement all over my school blazer. It was the first time I had to pay my own dry cleaning bill, after all my attempts to clean the mess failed and I couldn't dob George in by telling my Mum.
Seagulls have very beady yellow eyes.
There was an urban myth in Musselburgh (the seaside town where I grew up) many years ago, that one of the restaurants was closed down due to seagulls being found in the freezer. Whether the seagulls had been shot and stuffed in there to be served up, or whether they were innocent diners who'd keeled over after eating the restaurant food scraps, nobody knows.
They have big yellow feet. The equivalent of yellow fisherman's wellies.
There is another seaside town near Musselburgh called Gullane. Some of the locals pronounce it as gillane. Do they have seagills flying round there?
We called our local footbridge "The Bridge Of Sighs", not because you would sigh at the beauty of the river as you walked to your death like the bridge in Venice. No, you sighed at the thought of your imminent walk of death through the flock of seagulls sitting all along the bridge ready to pinch any snack you were carrying or poo on your jersey.
Seagulls make a horrible noise, rather like an old man hacking up something pretty unspeakable from the deepest depths of his chest. The other week I was staying by the seaside at a friend's house and woke to the gentle strains of what can only be described as multiple retching at the tender hour of 5am. Ah how it brought back memories…..
Seagulls, why am I waffling about seagulls today? Think maybe I'm nervous. Any new readers lured here by seeing the programme later today will think I have lost the plot completely – ho, hum, nothing new there then…….
See you when normality returns.