Someone kicked a seagull to death outside the Brothel last night.
I’ve decided to forever refer to our house as ‘The Brothel’, in a cynical and completely ineffective publisher-wooing move which will doubtless please my little Methodist mother no end.
It is not entirely a lie.
I do live in a brothel.
Kind of.
As I mentioned at some point earlier, we discovered - while having a drink with our new neighbours - that somewhere in the scheme of local history, our house was a ‘knocking shop’. As they put it.
Well, I say ’somewhere in the scheme of local history’; I mean last year. When they moved in opposite, which was not an indescribably long time ago (last year) our house was a little tiny two-up-two-down-of-ill-repute. Wahey!
This of course makes no difference whatsoever. Apart from, perhaps, to make me wonder whether we should swap that attractive red bulb in the porch for a plain one, and whether I’ve made a mistake in displaying my favourite vintage ‘MASSAGE & SAUNA! HOT TOTTY! FIVE DOLLAR!‘ poster quite so prominently in the front window. Still. It at least gives a little frisson to what is, otherwise, merely a rather polite (if tiny) house. It’s a nice house, the Brothel.
I’m not that happy about things being kicked to death outside it, though: Even if they are seagulls.
Yes, I know, that’s bad. You must excuse my sounding a little unsympathetic. I am, I really, really am, and it was a horrific, upsetting experience, it’s just - well, I’ve been there five weeks, and have developed a rather passionate dislike of seagulls.
To put it mildly.
In fact the thing that I’ve been gradually writing in internetful moments to put up on this site next happens to be about seagulls and how thoroughly cunty they are, and now, as if to make me feel bad about that, one goes and gets itself kicked to death in front of the Brothel. So now I don’t have anything to put up, because I feel so bad about it all. So I’ll just tell you what happened last night, instead.
In a coincidence that seems funnier now than it did at eleven o’clock last night, we’d just been having a conversation, my beloved and I, about how ‘yes, this area was rougher than the one we used to live in, but even though *some* drug dealers are worse than *No* drug dealers, we still liked it very much here, and are very happy, and anyway, nothing that bad had happened yet, had it?’ And then I went to bed.
I edged around the bed to turn on my light, and heard voices outside the window, in the passageway below.
That’ll teach you to shit on me, said a man’s voice. Peaking through the blind, I saw his fast-swinging foot scoop something off the ground and watched as it flew through the air, a floppy brown mass which made a high pitched whimpering sound as it arced across, then hit the gutter. It lay still.
The man - who looked like if he hadn’t got several ASBOs resting on his heavily-polyestered shoulders already, he should do - walked away, laughing. I could hear girls, too, and another young alpha-twat, all laughing. they all walked away. Laughing.
I ran downstairs, whispering urgently to my beloved that someone had kicked a small dog to death outside our house. Then I went to be sick.
It was a seagull, he said. Not a dog. Not the little aged terrier called Flossie who drinks in the pub next door - that’s what I’d been scared of most. It was the young brown seagull we’d been watching walk up and down the roof opposite. It was dead now, my beloved said. It was most certainly dead.
Even though, lying there, I thought I could hear the high-pitched whining sound I’d heard before every few minutes, never getting fainter. I turned on the fan for white noise, and the radio for background. And all the way through the night kept waking up and thinking of the shape and the curve of the body of the bird as it flew in an arc from fucker’s foot to gutter.
I tried to rationalise. The seagulls were pests, I told myself. Mice were pests. I’d ordered a hit on a mouse in the past, hadn’t I? I would do again, wouldn’t I?
Well, yes, but … not while laughing. Not gleefully. Not like that. It wasn’t like he chased it, even, I thought. It was just lying there. A vulnerable, non-moving target.
Then I realised what must have happened. It was a young seagull. We’d watched him, earlier in the day, trying to fly and bottling out. He must have fallen from the roof - it was late at night, after all, and wet - and broken his wing.
The bastard who kicked him would never have thought of it; but he probably put it out of its misery, ended its pain far quicker than would otherwise have been the case. In a way, I think, he did the nicest thing.
Though I wouldn’t tell him so, for fear of encouraging him to go around kicking other small animals. Because, you know, he probably would.
So there you go.
On the one hand: very horrible and very sad, making me despair for humanity and feel keenly the passing of an innocent creature. Very horrible. Very sad.
On the other: one less of something I’m not fond of in the slightest. Yes, in sad, and horrible way, but still one less of something that would otherwise be spreading rubbish and disease. And poo. And going RAWWWWWRRIIIIK. Oh, you’ll see in that post I shall write.
And to sum up: I love my new little (rented) house, but it DID used to be a brothel, we THINK there are drug dealers living on the corner and OCCASIONALLY people kick small defenseless creatures to death outside it.
But other than that it’s LOVELY.
< Sits back and waits for consecutive calming phonecalls from concerned family members… >
Yours or the seagull’s?
“it’s alright dear… squawwwwwk….his wing was broken..squawwwk..never fly again…can’t afford the quack’s bills…squawwwwwk …we’ll try again for another…” wailed Mrs Seagull
Comment by anj — 11 July, 2006 5:09 pm
Poor Seagull
Comment by Invader Stu — 11 July, 2006 5:09 pm
I know, Stu.
I was very sad. Really. I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I was.
More than sad, I was angry and upset and cunfused about how anyone can treat any living thing like that.
Comment by anna — 11 July, 2006 5:12 pm
yes. and it was possibly already disabled.
Look what happened to that poor man in Cornwall. Sometimes people are really sick.
Comment by anj — 11 July, 2006 5:21 pm
“he’s not dead, he’s, he’s restin’ … pining for the fjords”
“‘E’s not pinin’! ‘E’s passed on! This seagull is no more! He has ceased to be! ‘E’s expired and gone to meet ‘is maker! ‘E’s a stiff! Bereft of life, ‘e rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed ‘im to the perch ‘e’d be pushing up the daisies! ‘Is metabolic processes are now ‘istory! ‘E’s off the twig! ‘E’s kicked the
bucket, ‘e’s shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-SEAGULL!!”
Sorry - couldn’t resist…
Comment by Harry — 11 July, 2006 5:44 pm
Maybe the seagull had seen too much and the pimp had to kill it, because it was sending his brothel details back to another pimp who was planing to move in on his manor?
Comment by andre — 11 July, 2006 5:52 pm
I’d be very sad as well. And sick.
And I think the fact you live in a brothel is kinda cool. I live across the road from the best sex shop (well, classiest) in Vancouver, but it’s just not the same.
Comment by ladymissmarquise — 11 July, 2006 7:13 pm
Here’s a joke to cheer you up, anna
Why did the seagull fly over the sea?
………………………………….
……………………..
…………. Because if it flew over the bay it would be a….
Comment by anj — 11 July, 2006 7:43 pm
So has a concerned member of the family call ?
Comment by Andy Ramblings — 11 July, 2006 8:17 pm
Anj, you just made me giggle in a rather insensitive way.
Like the man who laughed at all the ’shock’ Transport for London Traffic Awareness adverts at the cinema last night.
A rather bemused audience, it was. We think he may have been a bit special.
Comment by fooyork — 11 July, 2006 8:21 pm
Oh dear yes, I can see that would’ve be’d v. upsetting. Particularly in the middle of the night.
And I’m glad I’m not the only one who hears noises that aren’t there.
Sheep are constantly calling my name.
Claaaaaare…
Comment by Clare — 11 July, 2006 8:40 pm
Seagulls may be the bane of Brighton, they may keep me from sleeping, night after night, in my wee garret where a closed window means suffocation in minutes, with their awful squeeches and aarkkks and naknaknaks, they may poo in the wrong places at the wrong times, but I’ve seen them over the beach on a windy day, or watched them moving over the sea from the Marina wall, totally in their element, clean-lined and grey as the sky, noble and graceful as anything. I hate the little buggers, as a general rule. But sometimes their beauty takes my breath away, and that’s not something that can be said for people who kick them to death outside other people’s perfectly respectable drug dens of iniquity.
Other than that, you settling in fine here then? Big liking of yo’ blog thing happenin’ from this garretty laptop. (My gulls squawking in oblivious assent.)
Actually, you gotta admit, the naknaknak thing they do is quite cute.
Comment by Bob — 11 July, 2006 8:45 pm
I don’t care for seagulls, but they are actually responsible for saving tens of thousands of people from starving in the USA in the 1800’s.
Yup. They are the state bird of Utah (My home) because they saved the pioneer settlers from certain starvation by eating a infestation of Crickets that were destroying all the crops.
So, if the UK suddenly has a swarm of locus decend, Brighton will be safe.
I still think they’re annoying shits nost of the time, though I think that guy is a wacked bastard for being able to kick something to death.
Charming story for the blog, though. Nothing draws in readers like good old fashioned murder with a little brothal-sex thrown in.
Comment by loralee — 11 July, 2006 8:56 pm
Aha - seagulls.
PS This is not a happy story that you have told here. Please circulate the details of the man who kicked it to death so that we can kick him to death and then say, “That will teach you to kick seagulls to death. Ha ha ha.”
Comment by Katy Newton — 11 July, 2006 10:18 pm
…bet the poor little thing never saw what was coming. Where do you think the term gullible comes from.
ps anyone interested in understanding a bit more about the life of seagulls should watch/read Jonathan Livingstone Seagull (soundtrack by Neil Diamond). Apparently it is based on a true story. I watched it as part of some cultural history research. Honest.
Comment by anj — 11 July, 2006 10:57 pm
For a summer after graduation I lived in a house which, when it entered our group of friends, housed five girls. According to the charming laws of our town, any house containing five unmarried girls and open alcohol was therefore a house of ill fame, and so it became known as The Brothel. By the time I moved in the name had passed into such normal use that my family all called the house The Brothel too. Every once in a while my lovely grandmother will still ask me, ‘And how are your friends from the Brothel, dear?’
Comment by Jonathan — 11 July, 2006 11:52 pm
Hang on, you’ve got a pub next door? And haven’t mentioned it yet? What’s it like, is it a town-pub full of characters, (I’m picturing Brighton Queens past their best, spivs selling tips for the races, crusty old locals.) Do tell.
Comment by Gerry — 12 July, 2006 12:05 am
So sorry you had to witness that. It’s never pleasant to see an animal die, especially when it’s helpless to fight off the crazy ass that kicked him. Arsewipe. He’ll get his someday.
We call seagulls flying rodents around here…and pigeons too. They really don’t bother us much, though they’ll eat anything if it’s put in front of them.
Ever hear the one of feeding a seagull an alkaselzer? They’re supposed to explode. That saddens me. How sad to be the person who felt it necessary to give a bird an alkaselzer, just to see what would happen.
Comment by Calista — 12 July, 2006 4:15 am
Not nice, no. I ionce saw a man kick a puppy which had slipped its leash and wandered out into a busy road causing traffic to swerve. This was in Paris, and my faith in the animal-loving nature of Parisians was restored by the instant traffic jam which formed of people yelling, swearing, and offering to relocate various of the bloke’s bodily organs for him.
We get seagulls nesting on the roofs near where I work, so walking to and from the car is interesting, because of both the shit and the dive-bombing. But they’re OK. There was a big grey fluffy chick on one of the roofs the other day looking so utterly stupid that I had to laugh.
You should call your house The Manhole. Or The Inner Tube. Or something seaside-postcardy. because you’re at the seaside.
Comment by Rob — 12 July, 2006 5:35 am
I’m not sure about calling it ‘The Man Hole’.
Comment by JonnyB — 12 July, 2006 7:43 am
On the bright side, then, if you hear any scratching and scuttling about in the Brothel, it’s probably not mice - you’ll have seagulls!
Comment by AndyB — 12 July, 2006 9:22 am
Here’s some practice for you!
http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/northwest/fun/pages/whenseagullsattack.shtml
Comment by AndyB — 12 July, 2006 11:23 am
Bob, welcome, hello, thank you. I like Naknaknak. Though am frankly still not sure that Seagulls will ever be ‘cute’. Still, I assume I’m singing the Song Of The New Brightonian note for note - first: get all overexcited about organic produce and beaches. Second: complain about seagulls. Third: Rave about the best place to get a decent breakfast. Fourth: Complain about tourists. Fifth: Cave in and get a piercing. Sixth Try and buy house. Start complaining about London commuters driving the house prices up, forgetting I *am* one.
No, I am settling in very well. I love my weekends more than life itself. I love my library. I love my beach, and my gym, and the birds cricling the moon and my life right now. I should actually write a post about it, because people keep asking nice questions about whether it’s all lovely and why I moved in the first place, and I keep ignoring them.
Anyway.
Anj - Dude, you’re on a ROLL. ‘Gullible’. Dum-ptsh.
Katy - nonono, this was not the seagulls post I’d mentioned I was going to write, it sort of overtook that one by containing the rather more newsworthy ‘kicking to death’ element. Anyway. I will enquire at the council about recent ASBOs and see if we can get the nasty man’s address. I have to say, you seem rather keen on going round people’s houses and duffing them up, of late. Don’ get me wrong - not a bad thing at all. Just an observation.
Loralee - I thought for a moment you meant the people of Utah were EATING the seagulls. For some reason that makes me feel sick. But then, that’s possibly because the seagulls round my way pull open the binbags and feast on tampons, and who wants to be the next step in THAT food chain?
Andy Ramblings - No, they haven’t. Either they’re not surprised or, most likely, they don’t read my blog. Rah.
Calista - You can’t feel sorry for them and then give me the alka selzer idea.
Rob - you’re filthy.
Jonny - you’re worse.
AndyB - I’m beginning to have nightmares about being visited by the ghost of the seagull, albatross-like. I may end up tying myself to the chimney. A staged version of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner was the first thing my mother took me to see at the theatre, coincidentally. Gave me nightmares for years.
Anyawy, where was I?
Comment by anna — 12 July, 2006 11:34 am
No sure if you can still get calcium carbide, which is the stuff they used to put in acetylene lamps? If you can, then sandwiches filled with a calcium carbide/bleaching powder mix should cause your seagulls not simply to explode = burst but actually to explode = flame/smoke. Not that I am recommending anything, you understand.
Comment by Rob — 12 July, 2006 12:14 pm
If you’d bought that super-soaker that I recommended you could have soaked the man and then he would have…… Oh.
But that’s OK, because then the drug dealers would have come out to save you, because they don’t want any trouble that may draw attention to the street. When the brothel and the drug dealer were both operating, yours was probably the safest street in Brighton.
Maybe the cruel man was drinking at the pub - maybe the publican will ban him if you mention it. Or just give him the nickname seagull fucker so that he feels too embarrassed to come back.
Comment by Damian — 12 July, 2006 12:19 pm
I’ve never wanted a giant pigeon costume and a baseball bat more than I do now.
Except that one time at band camp…
Comment by Mr Angry — 12 July, 2006 2:12 pm
supposedly it’s lucky if a bird shits on you.
So mr bird murderer shouldn’t have been complaining in the first place, should he?
although it has been commented on that said bird shit on shoulder is only supposedly lucky because otherwise - you just got crapped on!
If you get my drift.
Comment by Alicia — 12 July, 2006 2:54 pm
This fella is not amused
Comment by chillicheese — 12 July, 2006 3:01 pm
Ha! He’s not, is’e?
Perhaps they wouldn’t be so damnable unpopular (and easy to kick, clearly) if they weren’t so god-forsaken ugly.
Comment by anna — 12 July, 2006 3:29 pm
But seagulls aren’t ugly - except to the ear perhaps. Like all birds on god’s green Earth, they’re graceful, majestic and beautiful.
And that goes for things that are kinda birdy, or like birds. Your kiwi for example.
Oh, Nelly Furtado . . . ?
Comment by Aaron Seasearch — 12 July, 2006 4:43 pm
Well, I did say that it saddens me - and it does.
Comment by Calista — 12 July, 2006 5:00 pm
Oo oo oo, Anna, did you see the Travel section of last Saturday’s Grauniad? (Sorry, blame Richard Ingrams) It’s ALL about Brighton - where to eat, drink, stay, chill, find brothels, kick seagulls, the works!
Comment by AndyB — 12 July, 2006 7:40 pm
Err - meant to say the centrefold, but you probably knew that anyway.
Comment by AndyB — 12 July, 2006 7:40 pm
Wait a minute, don’t I remember a post about a little grey mouse getting a contract put on it’s head, and some laughter a few posts later? I’ll have to go back and check.
Comment by joeinvegas — 12 July, 2006 9:27 pm
It doesn’t have to be in his house. We could do it in the street, or on the beach, or outside that big bungy paviliony thing you have in Brighton.
Comment by Katy Newton — 12 July, 2006 9:38 pm
Cruel bastard. Poor seagull. What a horrible thing to witness. :(
Comment by Sooz — 13 July, 2006 4:00 am
Seagulls are beautiful and graceful, and I love their sad voices. They are surely one of the joys of living by the sea. I accept that they scavange and crap on everything, but I would still like to see and hear them when I get up.
BTW I have pigeons nesting on my roof and I like them too even though I know they too are a nuisance.
Comment by Chairwoman — 13 July, 2006 9:42 am
I once bottled out of killing a fledgling white-tailed tropicbird (the most beautiful bird in the world, I think) which had a badly broken wing and would have slowly starved to death. I just couldn’t do it, even though it was kinder. Someone else did it, and the snap of the neck was unbearable. I’m not sentimental about animals, but I am so down with forming a posse and kicking that fucktard to death. Really slowly.
I was going to leap to the defence of seagulls and how beautiful they are but it seems that a small army of seagull fanciers has already risen up. I do love them though - their fierce beaks, their wide wings, their simple white and black and gold. And imagine the seaside without a seagull soundtrack - it just wouldn’t be the same.
I also love pigeons. I can almost hear the howls of “rats with wings…”
Comment by Eloise — 14 July, 2006 11:00 am
I wish Brighton had tropicbirds. They’re utterly gorgeous. And they can fly backwards.
We do get sandwich terns diving near the beach sometimes, which is a lovely sight.
(they go for the shoals of cheesy ploughmans that thrive in these waters)
Comment by Bob — 14 July, 2006 11:48 am
“…how thoroughly cunty they are…”
Oh. I thought you didn’t like them.
Seriously, maybe it’s being a bloke, but I don’t understand how you can use my favourite word for referring to my favourite thing in all the world for…well, stuff you don’t like. Cunt is perfect, delicious, pink, cute, ripe, wonderful, adorable - and that’s just the actual word. What’s not to like?
Yes, I know, I’m being a bit unreconstructed here. Do I need to cite Eve Ensler in support of my position (oohhh, errr!) to reclaim some right-on post feminist cred? Or can I just witter on about how anyone with a cunt they don’t want can send it to me?
Comment by Philip — 21 July, 2006 8:36 pm