By Steve Stratford, Deputy Editor

SEAGULLS. Terrors of the skies, rats with wings, airborne vermin, call them what you will. Some people might even like them.

But anybody who has tried to enjoy a nice ice cream or sausage roll on the promenade in Llandudno or on Conwy's quay will probably have horror stories to tell of being attacked by starved seagulls intent on stealing food any which way they can.

Mother Nature's old adage of "survival of the fittest" prevails on our shores around Britain - humans are having to defend themselves from the focused, almost tactical onslaught from hungry seagulls who want a bit - no, all - of our grub!

Seagulls do have their apologists, people who maintain that if you go to or live by the seaside, you should expect to see seagulls. This is very true, but what you shouldn't have to expect, nay fear, is being attacked from behind by a beady-eyed gull with a beak the size of lawn shears.

Many have similar stories to tell. I was assaulted by one such airborne menace while ambling along Llandudno pier once. My barely touched ice cream was whipped out of my hand from behind, leaving me with nothing but an empty napkin and a light scratch along my neck. I hope the gull bloody enjoyed it too.

There have been countless times when I've been sitting with friends on a bench on the prom nibbling on a pasty, and very gradually - almost imperceptibly at first - you find yourself being watched by two beady eyes from the middle distance. They might be atop a lamp-post, or a bollard, or a roof, but they're always there, watching, waiting, sizing you up. And within a few seconds they will make their virgin strike, swooping with frightening precision, beak to pasty, oblivious to your personal safety or lunch break time restrictions.

Your pasty is that seagull's lunch, and you'll be lucky to survive its aeronautical blitzkrieg.

This week our regular Issue feature looks at this ongoing problem. Yes, it's an issue that's been done before, but that doesn't make it any less relevant or important. It's tourists and bird lovers feeding the gulls that has tamed them, and brought them more and more inland for their scavenging. It is the milk of human kindness that has turned seagulls into marauding Spitfires, the ultimate enemy of the peckish tourist.

Can this trend be reversed? Or is it our fate to eat indoors, under shelters and with fear in our hearts when we fancy a rum and raisin ice cream one warm summer's day?

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