I read this story on the Bath Chronicle website.
A distraught pet owner believes her missing beloved blind pet rabbit was snatched by a seagull.
Nikki Coker believes Flump disappeared after someone – or something – broke into the hutch in her garden.
And she fears the little white bunny could have been carried off by a hungry seagull.
Worried Nikki thinks it is the third rabbit near her home in Redhill, Surrey, that has gone missing in the past week.
Nikki thinks her blind bunny could have been stolen by a burglar, but the way the hutch was broken into suggests that it could have been breached by a hungry bird.
She said: “I was taking some food out for him and he wasn’t there.
“The back gate was smashed open and all of the hutch doors were wide open.
“My house wasn’t broken into. It seems they just intentionally did it for the rabbit, which is quite strange.”
Nikki contacted the police to report the incident, but was told there was nothing officers can do.
She has also walked around looking for Flump, and printed posters.
The four-year-old rabbit is white and has quite distinctive “milky” eyes.
I love rabbits and it is very sad that one has probably died, but one part of the story doesn’t seem right.
The back gate was smashed open and all of the hutch doors were wide open.
Is it being suggested that a seagull smashed the back gate open, to get to a rabbit?
I can see why the Bath Chronicle reported this story (even though it didn’t happen in Bath). There are some parts of the country, where immigration is wrongly blamed for everything that goes wrong in the world. In Bath, all the locals blame seagulls for any trouble caused in the city.
Last night, Simon and John came round for the evening. Since I moved to Weston, their visits have been rare. During the days of Newbridge Road, we would often visit Pizzarella on Chelsea Road for our evening takeaway. Shortly after I left my flat, the mad, but extremely good pizza maker, who ran Pizzarella, appeared to leave the pizza outlet. Whether this was in fear of bankruptcy, due to me moving away, I don’t know. I did order from there a couple of times since his departure, but sadly, it’s not been quite the same.
Claire and I tried Dominos, which was OK, although the dough is a bit funny. Then we moved onto Pizza Hut. Again, the pizza was nice, but often delivered in a less from satisfactory standard – most recently resembling a nappy. I was introduced to Papa John’s Pizza by a former work colleague. While a little sceptical at first, as soon as I tried the pizza, I was hooked. It was amazing. What’s more, is they always seem to have a deal, along with offering loyalty points, so more often than not, I find myself with a free, or vastly reduced, pizza.
It was at my house yesterday evening that Simon and John lost their Papa John’s virginity. The fact they ate it all and didn’t vomit shows they must have enjoyed it. We ate outside, which was nice at first, given the heat from the longest day of the year; although I got a little scared when a seagull started hovering above our heads. Clearly this bird liked pizza too and looked like it was either going to dive bomb us and steal half a large double peperoni or shit on us.
The seagull led us to discuss science, mainly what would happen if humans could fly. The talk of selected breeding was raised, with an idea of breeding humans with webbed hands until, over thousands of years, they developed wings and the ability to take flight. Simon proposed that humans should also be bred to grow gills so they could dive to the bottom of the deepest of oceans, but that would be silly – they would, of course, be eaten by sharks and jellyfish.
When the pizza had been eaten and talks of producing a master race came to an end, we packed up the garden chairs and went indoors. I showed Simon the new episode of Friday Night Dinner, which we all enjoyed immensely, before we all picked another item of TV to watch, which was enjoyed, but not quite as much – mainly due to the fact I was growing increasingly tired. Simon made a wise choice of One Foot in the Grave, I picked Peep Show, while John went for Brass Eye. A little known one off series from Channel 4. These are all from DVDs I own and have paid for with my own money, so it’s not like I could really complain about disliking any of them.
John also broke the major news that he was moving out of his cottage in Marshfield and returning to his canal boat to live. Sadly, this means no more barbecues in the back garden or Bomberman sessions on his big TV. The return to the boat will, however, mean barbecues on a towpath and me watching Simon and John dispose of dead, bloated and drowned badgers (see an old blog from 2010).
It is true to say that the majority of Bath residents live in a bubble, separated from the rest of the world and society. With the exception of housing and unemployment, which affects the entire country, us Bathonians have it easy. We live in a safe and clean city. Just look at the national news to see some of the horrible things taking place in other towns within the UK.
Still, moaning is in our nature. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t complain and Bath residents are no different. Except, as we have no real issues to concern us, we find other things to whinge about. Twitter is a great place to see such complaints.
Below are just some of the top perils to affect the residents of the Georgian city of Bath…
I mentioned these myself the other day (you can tell I live in Bath!). Tweets I have observed this week range from locals moaning about the gulls’ noise, existence and habit of defecating everywhere. The funniest thing was, although everyone seems to hate the birds, there were a number of tweets on Monday, made by appalled residents who had spotted some dead gulls lying in the road. What do you actually want, people?
The word killer is an exaggeration; although the way some people carried on, you would have thought some being on high had sent the insects to Bath to murder us all. In reality, a few larger than life ants, some with wings, hatched one hot afternoon and crawled about a bit. By the morning they were all dead. Some people blaming the seagulls for their demise. Yes, seriously.
A lot of posh toffs live in Bath. Therefore the proposal of a Primark opening in the city centre predictably sent a wave of fake outrage across the west country Internet. Until now, Bath hasn’t had a Primark – a popular, budget clothes store. The nearest one being in Bristol. No doubt the local snobs would love it on Saturday afternoons, as all the “riff raff” would leave city like rats, on the X39 bus to Bristol, to pick up some affordable rags from the shop they consider beneath them, leaving the streets of Bath free of commoners and allowing the upper classes to enjoy copious glasses of Pimms and trips to The Rec. When this Primark opens in Bath, I honestly think it will kill some of more toffs. Those who are still living after The Pound Shop opened last year.
Not the train station station, named Bath Spa. Nor the posh swimming pool of the same name. No I’m on about the city where I reside, known as Bath. It has come to my attention that some people are calling the city “Bath Spa”. These people are clearly very, very wrong, but they seem insistent upon it. To be honest, I couldn’t give a shit, but it’s annoyed many tweeters, who are again suffering from fake outrage at the fact their city has been called anything but its correct title. Snobs. If you ask me, we should go back to calling the city Aquae Sulis. I’m a man of class and tradition, after all.
If you are not a resident of Bath, you will probably not appreciate tonight’s blog, as it is solely going to rant about the seagull population in the city. It’s shit. There are more seagulls in Bath than on Brighton beach at a seagull rock festival.
The thing is, you can always hear them. If you are in Bath and are reading this, turn any television or music off and open your window. I can guarantee you will be able to hear the distinct cackle from the vile bird.
Tuesday night I was at Bath City. A single chip found its way onto the football pitch. Within minutes a scene fit for an Alfred Hitchcock film descended upon the football ground – loads of seagulls fighting over a soggy piece of fried potato. There must have been more seagulls in the ground than there were fans.
Luckily I live away from the town centre where I hear the gull problem is a lot worse. The council blame the bird population on household and business rubbish thrown onto the streets on bin men day. In this case, I am going to side with the residents and businesses. They dispose of their rubbish in black bin bags. How else are they supposed to get rid of it, when Bath remains one of the few cities in the UK still not to use wheelie bins? I tell a lie, we used to have a wheelie bin in my set of flats. It then got taken away as the council got a new bin lorry without a mechanism for lifting the bins. Surely if everyone put their rubbish in a sealed plastic bin, the seagulls wouldn’t get fed?
BANES should introduce wheelie bins to all. Help us out. After that, any resident caught littering gets fined. Any tourist caught feeding the seagulls, and believe me, I’ve seen it, is drowned in the River Avon. Seems fair to me.
I ranted to Simon about this via text, who pointed out that until Bath’s toff population start to moan, the council will do nothing. Simon is of course correct. The seagulls never seem to target the expensive, Georgian properties on the outskirts of the city and in surrounding countryside, where the most affluent live. Local authorities bow to the wealthy, anyway – just look at the difference in council tax rates between the bottom and top band – minute if you compare the range in actual property costs.
Maybe the toffs, who no doubt cried to their MP when fox hunting was made illegal, should take up a new sport – gull hunting. Everyone is happy then.
I think it was better when I just blogged about football.
Bath seems to be overrun with seagulls! The weather has been quite warm lately, so I have been sleeping with my bedroom windows open (my normal fear of spider invasion being overridden by the sticky-heat causing insomnia). Throughout the night, the seagulls nesting by the nearby riverside screech and scream, making the most awful noise.
I have been tempted to go down with a shotgun and take them out. On hindsight though, I don’t think that is a good idea – think about it – a man walking around in his pyjamas, brandishing a shotgun and firing into the sky.
Not only was my sleep interrupted by the bloody seagull row, but some inconsiderate youth was riding around on a Chavmobile (or “moped”), also at some ungodly hour. Is it wrong of me to wish that he crashes?
On this website, you’ll find me blogging (almost) daily about everyday life, living in Bath, working with computers, and the occasional bit of football stuff thrown in.
If you're expecting The Man Booker Prize, you've come to the wrong place. If you want to read a collection of sometimes eccentric, often disturbing and rarely amusing ramblings, gorge your eyes on this.