mns  2005-07-22 11:55   

End of August

I would have thought that wildlife in central London would have been the least of my problems however from the moment of arrival and moving in, my life has been ruled by a seagull.
Yes. A seagull. A furious territorial brute that sits on scaffolding across the garden some six stories up and rules the area like a raving lunatic.
It all started innocently enough some eight weeks ago. His partner sat on a chimney on top of the eggs which duly hatched and two of the largest grey chicks imaginable emerged and squatted there, seemingly happily enough for a couple of weeks while their parents fed them.
And then one day – while I wasn’t looking – they disappeared.
While they were there the seagull in question patrolled the passageway from the garden to the road and if anyone made the error of hesitating to look up and admire the chicks on the chimney, he flew down with a shrieking vengeance, swooping on the innocent observer and chasing them away. And I should know! I took to scuttling down that path and out the gate without even raising my head, as he was truly terrifying.
But the chicks disappeared and shortly afterwards so did his mate, and now he patrols relentlessly from the rooftop.
At approximately 2.30 every morning three foxes come out to play. This involves leaping over hedges, hiding behind trees, rolling on the grass and in general having a jolly frolic.
However, Mr Seagull sees these as trespassers on his private property and he swoops and shrieks, dive bombs and squawks while the three foxes totally ignore him and continue their games.
I have tried photographing and videoing this activity – there is no question of sleeping because of the noise and it’s too hot to close the windows. Unfortunately the lighting in the garden isn’t bright enough for my camera, and I’ve given up on that front. After an hour’s play the foxes head off for the delights of the rubbish bins outside the many restaurants in the area, but just when I think I am drifting off to sleep, the foxes return, invigorated and ready for more play, and Mr Seagull gets off his high perch and recommences his kamikaze dives on the garden with renewed fury.

All the affection and admiration that I felt for this caring parent-bird in the first weeks has evaporated. I really wish he’d move down to the river, which is where I’m sure he ought to be.