A London couple I know bought a house in Mousehole and invited friends around for a house-warming tea in the garden. All went well until they carried the sandwiches and cakes out to the picnic table and went back into the kitchen to make the tea. On returning they found that the party was already in full swing as a large and happy crowd of larus argentatus polished off the last few crumbs of the feast. In Mousehole, as in many seaside towns, Gull is king.
Living in the country I'm free to admire the Herring Gull for its many qualities, a superbly adaptable creature, at home on water or land or seashore, a strong and graceful flyer and a highly intelligent bird. But the residents of Mousehole and other coastal communities have many reasons for their uneasy relationship with their avian chums.
For the gulls it's win/win. Their diet is wonderfully varied – they chase trawlers into the bay for fish guts; they pig out on chips, pizza, burger-buns, pasty-crusts and everything else fussy eaters leave; they follow the tractor and fight for first pick of the worms and grubs the plough throws up. There's a less palatable side, as they pick through rubbish bins, pull apart refuse sacks and distribute the contents for inspection on the pavement, fall on the unpleasant consequences of too much drink followed by a Chinese takeaway, and – before the latest sewage scheme – gathered in a hungry circle above the outfall waiting for the regular pumping schedule. After this of course they spray those below with guano, inviting the inevitable passer-by to remind you that your disgusting shower was "good luck". Thanks.
On roofs they crank up their nuisance value exponentially. Local builders have a sideline in clearing nests from flat roofs and erecting all kinds of military-looking defences around valleys and chimney stacks. Among their downsides as neighbours are their marvellous range of calls, described by my bird-book as "wailing, chuckling and yelping notes, a 'kee-yow' and a loud echoing 'gah gah gah'." Unfortunately the loud echoing gah gah gah usually begins at the first light of dawn and can continue until after dark. An even worse side-effect is the autumn house-flood, which is when you discover that they've chosen your roof gully as a nesting site and left a solid pile of sticks and moss behind to divert rainwater into your roof-space.
But these indictments pale when compared to the increasing fear of gull-attack. In past years the only chance of being mobbed or attacked by gulls was if you approached too close to their nests, as climbers often do. Warding off a flapping pecking blizzard of gulls while clinging to a cliff is a memory I'd rather forget. But it is sadly true that gulls have grown more and more aggressive. They now tend to stab as well as peck, and fly deliberately into their objective with some force. Worse than the damage to our persons is the fear factor. Many people are scared of birds and unaware that they are far more vulnerable than they look. The gull mindset seems to have changed. Scavengers are supposed to wait patiently until the main protagonists – say, man and pasty – have finished their business. But like the cartoon of bored vultures saying "To hell with this – I'm going to kill something", they now take the initiative with spectacular results. St Ives gulls are legendary, snatching sandwiches from your hand, nipping the tops off ice-creams to the distress of children. I was sitting on a bench in St Ives when a gull flew over my friend's shoulder straight at his pasty, expertly knocking it to the ground where six other waiting gulls bolted it down in seconds. Brilliant, but scary.
What's the answer? If seaside resorts want to win this it won't be by killing gulls or pricking eggs. The holiday harvest is just too tempting and nature abhors a vacuum. The only behaviour we can moderate is our own. Special bins for junk food need to be placed at regular intervals, backed up with serious fines for littering. Netted gull-free eating areas would protect the picnics (and reduce the widespread dumping of food-related rubbish). Some moderate fighting back would help – perhaps inflatable plastic anti-gull clubs sold with ice-creams as a useful retail sideline. Gulls adapt, and if the supply dries up the demand will move elsewhere. We might yet have the last gah.