Do you know this seagull?

At shortly after 2pm yesterday on Woolacombe beach in Devon, a crime was committed.

Aided and abetted by other seagull bully birds, this character assaulted my son and stole his meat and potato pasty.

I’d already had mine. Sitting alongside me on the golden sand, Charlotte had gobbled up her cheese and onion equivalent. And Vanessa had performed a disappearing act on a crab salad sandwich.

All good. And then the nasty seagull struck. In the space of no more than two seconds, it glanced off Jamie’s head, making him drop his pasty. It then grabbed a large chunk of it whilst three other birdie robbers arrived on cue to snaffle the remnants.  Not a crumb was left.

Understandably, Jamie - a confirmed bird lover - was a bit shaken up. I’ve heard stories of seagulls snatching people’s chips and knocking ice creams off cones, but I’d never seen anything like this.

Thinking about the incident overnight, I started to blame myself.  I don’t know if you saw the final Jaws movie - the one where the son/daughter/whatever of the original Jaws arrived with revenge on its mind and the objective of eating Chief Brodie’s family. 

As it happens, back in my beach cleaning days, part of the job was to pick up dead seagulls and shove them in bin bags. However, occasionally my fellow Wombles and I would get bored.

I’m naming no names - Pete Wilson, Colin Andrews, Stephen Barr, Tommy Millen, Rodney McAleese, Jason King, Roger Woodend, Jason Kyle, Alan McClarty plus Jen Trohear who watched - but some of us did develop an unfortunate habit of giving the birds the opportunity to make one last flight. None of them ever did manage a final flap, on the grounds that they were dead.  But perhaps our actions could have been interpreted by some as undignified on the part of the deceased.

Following yesterday’s vicious attack, I now fear that our lapse of judgement all those years ago may have been seen by living seagulls at the time with tales passed down through the generations. And yesterday’s attack on Jamie was an attempt to get at me through my son.

So I end with two messages. First, to the nasty seagull pastyjacker.  I’m hoping to be back on Woolacombe beach again tomorrow.  You and I have unfinished business.

And to my fellow Wombles, watch your backs lads and lass. They’re coming for us.