Saturday, 25 September 2010


I've been in a grump today. The day got off to a bad start when my mum suggested we go shopping to Cleveleys (God's waiting room). I've previously blogged about the vagaries of shopping in Cleveleys. It's a hell-hole of wolf-print fleece jackets and wall-to-wall crap. We had only just got out of the car and walking towards our first stop on the crap shop trail (New Look) when my day went downhill faster than Franz Klammer at the Winter Olympics. Allow me to fill you in on living all my life on the mighty fine Fylde coast. Living by the sea gives you plenty of fill-your-boots ozone-busting fresh air. It gives you some great views and some perfect walks along the beach. The downside is seagulls. They are total bastards when it comes to leisurely eating your chips on the prom. They don't take any prisoners in their greedy pursuit of any old food items - and they have rich pickings from the tonnage of discarded kebabs and KFC around Blackpool's prom after a Saturday night. In all my years of living here though, it has taken until today until one actually shitted on me. This particular bird must have stored up his junk food diet, had some All-Bran for breakfast, washed it down with syrup of figs and thought to itself 'here comes a right one.. face like a slapped arse... I think I'll do the biggest dump in living memory right on her head and new jacket mmmmwhhhhaaah'. And so, with great aplomb, this bloody seagull lets rip with a quantity of poo that a wildebeest would have been proud of. It landed in my Pantene Pro-V clean and shiny hair. It landed on my watch. It covered my right shoulder, right sleeve and half the collar of my new Berghaus jacket. It smelt of doner kebab with a haddock undertone of blueberries and lemon grass. It was a green slush of immense and utter hideousness. Only a recent goey dental impression has made me gag more. I stomped into the nearest cafe and in true stroppy hormone-induced and crying bratness, sponged off a huge amount of bird shit with a sloppy mess of the world's worst toilet paper (just behind Izal Medicated). 

I then removed the pump action shotgun from my very expensive handbag and returned to the crime scene in order to shoot the bastard as a warning to all other seagulls... Don't mess with a woman on a mission to buy a wolf-print fleece jacket...


  1. Commiserations, Ms FFB. These birds should be trained to shit on yobbos instead of well-groomed and elegantly-dressed ladies such as yourself!

  2. Thankyou GB for commiserating on what was a bad day for being target practice for a mentally ill seagull with gastroenteritis. Sadly, it appears I'm no lady when I read the blog back and see my liberal and over use of bad language.
    Have to agree on your sentiment towards yobbos though.