Avian Gangsters
There are more than 140,000 breeding pairs of herring gulls in the UK, and at least three of them appear to have taken up residency on my roof. Gulls like being in a gang. They have a gang mentality. Their noisy, braggadocio style of communicating and menacing dive-bombing of any householder foolish enough to attempt to sit in their own garden, equips them perfectly for a life of crime. They are unpleasant, smelly scavengers. If there was a Jeremy Kyle show for the avian population, the sofas would be overflowing with them. But that’s just my opinion, obviously.
The RSPB takes a different view. It has them on the endangered list (their numbers are down 40 per cent since the 1970s, apparently) and we are to be encouraged to protect them and their natural habitat. The latter is cliff faces but they prefer chimney pots – all the better for keeping an eye on the local takeaways. In the winter, when the seaside visitors subside and the pickings are slimmer, they relocate to the municipal rubbish tips. With an average life span of 25 years, and a twice-yearly breeding season, you’re never far from a herring gull – in my case, not far enough.
The noise made overhead by a breeding pair of gulls (as I can testify) is alarming. Terrifying even. There are few reasons for three grown women to run screaming from a house at 5 o’clock in the morning, but a noise that sounds like a herd of rats in the roof void above the bedrooms is certainly one of them.
For my two guests, bolting down the street in their nighties wasn’t the start to the peaceful, relaxing weekend they had planned. Nor was the hysterical phone call to Mark the builder begging him to come over and save us. Yes, it was that pathetic. But what would you have done: gone up the ladder and stuck your head through the loft hatch and faced the unknown monster? Or call for help? We called for help. The sound, we now know, is the noise of growing gulls banging their feet on the roof tiles demanding their parents return with an early brekkie. As it is illegal to remove the nests of any wild birds, we are stuck with them. And don’t they know it.
Next week: Off -street barking
The RSPB takes a different view. It has them on the endangered list (their numbers are down 40 per cent since the 1970s, apparently) and we are to be encouraged to protect them and their natural habitat. The latter is cliff faces but they prefer chimney pots – all the better for keeping an eye on the local takeaways. In the winter, when the seaside visitors subside and the pickings are slimmer, they relocate to the municipal rubbish tips. With an average life span of 25 years, and a twice-yearly breeding season, you’re never far from a herring gull – in my case, not far enough.
The noise made overhead by a breeding pair of gulls (as I can testify) is alarming. Terrifying even. There are few reasons for three grown women to run screaming from a house at 5 o’clock in the morning, but a noise that sounds like a herd of rats in the roof void above the bedrooms is certainly one of them.
For my two guests, bolting down the street in their nighties wasn’t the start to the peaceful, relaxing weekend they had planned. Nor was the hysterical phone call to Mark the builder begging him to come over and save us. Yes, it was that pathetic. But what would you have done: gone up the ladder and stuck your head through the loft hatch and faced the unknown monster? Or call for help? We called for help. The sound, we now know, is the noise of growing gulls banging their feet on the roof tiles demanding their parents return with an early brekkie. As it is illegal to remove the nests of any wild birds, we are stuck with them. And don’t they know it.
Next week: Off -street barking