[seagulls] where's the party, jon?

In the years I was living in Australia, my parents' house, as distinct from my city apartment, was down on the beach and they had quite a lifestyle. My stepfather, whose birthday would have been tomorrow, was a keen fisherman and a member of the local boating club.

My goodness it was idyllic. We'd go down for barbecues on the patio built over the water out from the beach and the sounds, the smell of the beach, seaweed and salt air and the freshness were bracing.

Fabulous stuff, burnt into my very soul even now.

I myself sailed further down the coast and thus I'd always stop in on the way down and on the way back in the evening, boat on trailer behind the car, with or without my lady.

One little thing we'd always do [more often than not, I was alone] was to go to the best l'il fish'nchip shop, a short hop from the foreshore. They always knew I would visit and the crumbed whiting, chips and dim sims were the best.

But here's the thing - I'd always order too many chips.

Halfway down the hill there was a place you could stop and park and it was a lookout area. Of course the views were panoramic but that wasn't all.

Picture this:

After the first two minutes, the first gull would glide in on an angle and land on your bonnet [hood]. If you didn't mind the mess and scratching, you waited and two or three more would come. Then out came the chips and very gently you'd reach around out of the window and flick chips to them in the air. They'd flap, jump up and catch them in their bills.

There was always one who was left on the roadside and often you'd fling a chip to him but the Ornery Critter always took it so you'd fling one to the Ornery Critter and another immediately to your little friend.

Now they were everywhere and the word had gone out that the party was going down on the car. The braver tried to waddle onto the side mirror and some on the roof tried peering down through the window but would fall off and flutter away. The screeching was unbelievable. The drumming of their feet on the roof was like light rainfall, except for the scratching.

It genuinely was a party. Even passing children would stop, watch, gesticulate and smile.

Then the chips would run out.

Oh that was sad 'cause I knew that only the most loyal [or greedy] would now remain and eventually they too would head for the next party.

That's why, when I read the following, there was a real nostalgic twinge:

A seagull has turned shoplifter by wandering into a shop and helping itself to chips. The bird walks into a newsagents in Aberdeen when the door is open and makes off with cheese-flavoured corn chips. The seagull, nicknamed Sam, has now become so popular that locals have started paying for the chips.

For sure. Absolutely. I'd buy a dozen serves to watch that.