I haven’t reported much on the plague of gulls, lately, but that’s not because it’s in any way abated. Rather, they’ve upped their sophistication, to the extent that they know I’ll shoo ’em after daybreak, so they’ve begun arriving early. And by “early,” I mean “at the arse crack of dawn; while I’m still sleeping; six thirty or earlier.” They eat. They scream. And now, apparently, they boak all over my balcony. Talk about uncalled-for. I woke up yesterday morning to rather an odd sort of squawking — higher-pitched than usual, and a bit strangled — and no sooner did I reach for my whistle, to frighten the miscreant away, than it SPEWED ALL OVER MY BALCONY! As if the effluvium from the other end wasn’t bad enough, I’ve got to have gull vomit. I thought the gull might stay away, at least, if it had indigestion, but apparently the projectile boak was just…making room for more. Bloody thing woke me up three more times, calling its mate to come and share a meal.
In the event that anyone thinks I’m overstating the volume or egregiousness of the gullsong, here’s the avian alarm clock, itself:
Now, imagine that repeated at great length, every ten minutes or so, from first light till the moment one rolls out of bed. I might have to start getting up at six thirty, to avoid an hour and a half’s broken sleep. These gulls are really eating into my shuteye. I find myself drowsy and irritable. And they do eat an awful lot. I never used to run through this much seed and suet. Even the crows are content with a few beakfuls; the gulls eat till they’re fit to pop.
In other news, I saw Mr. Dolgonosov in the garden again, today. I was leaning over my railing, watching the starlings, when he emerged from behind a bush, and looked right at me. I ducked back inside quickly, then remembered I wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of, and went back out. Dolgonosov was still staring. I stared back, till he went away. Barmy old coot. I hope he moves away, soon, or gets eaten by a gull.
