Now it may be a sign of madness, but is seems to me that I have made a seagull friend. I have called him, ‘Viscount Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson’, or plain ‘Horatio’ for short. This bird is plucky, roguish, with a habit of tilting his head to one side in a quizzical kind of way.
Having taken up the questionable art of lap-swimming at my local pool, I reward myself afterwards with a drive through cappuccino and ONE piece of raisin toast. (It’s an established fact that I cannot be trusted with buttery toast, and therefore can only have it when I am out.) Horatio, had taken to landing on my bonnet, watching me munch my toast and eyeing me in his inquiring sort of way. “Prithee Lady, are you going to share?”
The first time, I threw a crust his way, he snatched it up and flew off; however, as we got to know each other, he tarried awhile on my red car bonnet. These days, he lingers and we munch in companionable, silence and when he wants some more he comes up to the window and taps it politely with his yellow beak. If I keep the side window rolled down, he reaches his beak round and takes the toast straight from my hand.
“Er…make that two-slices-of-toast, thank you!” I ordered for the first time this morning, and I realised our friendship was committed. Horatio, it has to be said, particularly likes the raisins.