It doesn't take much imagination to figure this out:
Sitting just over there, holding a combination of ice creams, Cornish pasties, and baguette sandwiches, are great clots of tourists. They are innocently minding their own business, munching away and chatting, when just overhead a flock of seagulls gather. The gulls are eyeing those delectable pasties and they mean to have one. As I watch, the dive-bombing begins.
And then come the screams.
"IT GOT MY SANDWICH! THAT WICKED, WICKED BIRD!"
I have perched myself in an out-of-the-way spot at a distance, because I know. I have been fooled before, and lost. What you don't get just by looking here, is the sound those wretched things make as they dive: a horrible guttural screech that frightens, yet gives no time to take evasive action. It is mean, I tell you. MEAN.
But it is rather entertaining all the same. There is a satisfaction that comes from knowing that you aren't the one, this time.
See you along the way!
(And by the way, the gulls don't just dive-bomb the human population. They also dive-bomb each other in their quest for groceries. Wicked.)
Looking over my shoulder this early morning, at Carbis Bay