Rise Of The Urban Gullrillas!

Description:

Marius Goubert takes his life in his hands to report from the seagull frontline.


The streets of Bristol crawl with every conceivable threat. From knife wielding criminals, rapists, murderers and carjackers to gangs of drunken thugs who will put you through a shop window should you dare to look at them the wrong way. I cannot fathom how decent Bristolians dare to leave their houses.

When I learned of the latest threat to afflict our unfortunate city, it is hard for me not to question whether this is all just coincidence or something much, much worse. Has a curse suddenly descended upon us? Was Bristol actually built on the site of some ancient burial ground? When our skies begin to fill with ominous congregations of howling sea birds who suddenly descend, firing vomit and faeces at innocent citizens like a feathery scene from ‘Apocalypse Now', I cannot help but wonder.

But before you decide that enough is enough and it's time to get the hell out of Bristol before it becomes a prime location for a remake of ‘The Birds', take heart. One man has risen up, vowing that these attacks by tyrannical urban seagulls must stop.

His name is...well, let's call him ‘John'. Who knows who may be reading? His entire life has been spent in a vicious death grapple with the mad birds, whose bodies are mutated and minds warped by a diet of southern fried chicken and kebabs. Unfortunately for our hero, his stand has come at great personal cost. No longer able to walk the streets in safety and constantly having to look over his shoulder, John has had to come to terms with the fact he is now a marked man.

This was clearly demonstrated when he attempted to describe the gulls behaviour during an interview with a local reporter. The sky suddenly darkened as the gulls sensed their nemesis out in the open. An attack squadron of herring gulls and black-backed gulls began to circle John threateningly. Forced to run for cover, he quickly explained that the next phase of their attack would be to begin a bombing run, ‘defecating and vomiting' to shock and awe. Then, with their target confused, weakened by exhaustion, perhaps even blinded after a direct hit to the eye, the final phases of the attack would be to swoop in from behind and slice at the head with a special attack claw.

John's studies of the killer gulls have certainly been thorough, and he is adhering to a simple principle: to defeat the gull, we must first understand the gull. In the dead of night, as most of Bristol sleeps, John is busy poring over notes, quietly muttering facts and figures under his breath while he seeks out new clues. Nesting patterns, attack formations, feeding areas - all of it marked in big red circles on his map of Bristol - their concentration growing nightly with terrifying speed.

With the birds no doubt aware of his plans, John stays vigilant, occasionally looking up from his work as a flutter from outside the window catches his eye. Perhaps it was a vengeful gull - its beak dripping blood - arrogantly sticking up two feathers to his architectural sketches of gull-proof buildings and high frequency sound systems.

So close but yet so far, the final solution continues to elude him. The idea of introducing fake gull eggs met with some initial success, but as John acknowledges despairingly, ‘there are only so many fake eggs that the council can afford to get out there'. Now he has taken to walking the streets of Bristol with his head in his hands. Occasionally he gazes up at the city's architecture in despair. Cosily nestled in the over-hanging parapet walls and embellished cornices of Bristol's Georgian squares and Norman Churches, beady-eyed gulls gaze back. Their eyes glazed in black triumph, as acidic droppings slowly burn away the city's architectural heritage.

Only the £5 million roof of Cabot Circus stands currently unscathed, because managers employ a hawk to carry out bi-weekly sweeps of the building. Soon it seems that all small business across Bristol will be forced to take similar measures - or at least have kites in the shape of hawks flying from their roofs. Although I try to remain optimistic, there is simply no escaping the fact that Bristol is losing the war against seagulls.

The uncomfortable truth is that it is Bristolians ourselves who are to blame for brutalising our once meek and happy feathered friends. No longer bothering to travel to the river in search of fresh fish, the birds simply circle the piles of take away food left by weekend revellers in our city centre. Deprived of the calming effects of omega 3 and pumped full of additives, salts and God knows what else - is it any wonder that the birds are losing their minds?

 

Maybe this is nature's way of holding up a mirror to the dysfunctional behaviour which engulfs the streets of Bristol every weekend. Perhaps, like suffocating canaries down a mine, the seagulls of Bristol are providing a stark warning we should all heed, before it really is too late.

 

Marius Goubert is a freelance writer with his eye on Bristol and beyond.


The views expressed are those of the writer, and do not necessarily reflect the views of Guide2Bristol.