Cassius Pugnatius Seagull

And as December has gently morphed into winter, rather unusually for this year, ho ho ho have I had some fun. Mrs Blenkinsopp at No. 104 has been 'entertaining' a gentleman who - so my limited search reveals - is not Mr Blenkinsopp. I sat on the window sill and joined in their mournful cries. At an appropriate moment, I joined in with my famous impersonation of a machine gun. The so-called gentleman then lobbed a boot at me, which went crashing through the window and landed on a traffic warden below. 

Now how's she going to explain that to her husband. Fnaar.

I did return momentarily to make one last mournful lament before soaring orf into the bright blue yonder that is St Leonards on Sea. Fnaar.

However, it has come to the attention of we gulls that a bunch of people calling themselves 'The Kippers' will be gathering together at the Doom and Gloom (an inn, tavern or house of ill repute so called because one of the punters died whilst awaiting his pint of 'Old Dogfart' and nobody noticed. Not for a week.) 

But I digress.

What these kippers seek to do is have a quiz night where you pay a fortune to participate, and have a portion of fish and chips. Indoors. Yep, indoors. Well, what's a gull supposed to do? No rich pickings there then.

Operating a shift system (yes, that said 'shift' and nuffink else), we will be lining up along the edge of the roof and greeting these so-called kippers in our inimitable gull style; once on arrival and once on departure.

After all, we don't want this sort of useless immigrant spoiling our sea-front haunt, do we?