Should he have been up before the beak?
THE man who was apprehended eating a seagull confessed it tasted a bit like a peregrine falcon, thereby inviting a hefty fine for consuming two of the country’s protected birds.
Some will question the wisdom of protecting gulls, who by nature are kleptomaniacs and more deadly than the Stuka dive bomber.
People have been known to wear helmets when pegging clothes on the line and use umbrellas to protect their fish and chips from the predatory behaviour of the screeching herring gull.
I used to think the seagull was the devil incarnate after I took a direct hit outside a hotel wearing a new suit to an important conference. Then I read Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a fascinating bestselling short novel written by the American author Richard Bach and beautifully illustrated in black-and-white photographs. Jon was no ordinary gull, not just bone and feather but a “perfect idea of freedom and flight”.
He had watched the others in the flock and concluded that what mattered to them was eating and not flying.
Not satisfied with screeching, fighting with the flock and diving on scraps of fish and bread, Jon thought that there was more to life than that. He wanted to fly, to flap his wings as hard as he could, to roll into a dive, touch excellence, enjoy the beauty of speed.
But his ambition and his passion to find a higher purpose violated the dignity and tradition of the flock and led to his isolation by the elders who “couldn’t see their own wing tips”.
Surely there is only scrabbling after fish heads. Not for Jonathan Livingston Seagull, who learned to fly faster and at a higher level towards perfection.
Some have regarded the story as a naïve fantasy; for others it is a spiritual classic.
Richard Bach wrote: “We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence, intelligence and skill. We can learn to be free! We can learn to fly!”
Certainly a thought for the new year, but it doesn’t work if you’re a seagull who prefers to stand on one leg.