-Dobar dan!

-Eh, Seamus is the name actually. Not Dan.

-Ah, an English-speaking seagull. A wooden English-speaking seagull, even. How quaint! I was just saying good afternoon. I’m Vlad by the way.

-Oh, howya, Vlad, nice to meet you.

-You too. Was that you I saw yesterday down at the Fishermen’s Festival at Vrsar harbour, by any chance?

-Sure was. I was there with my owners. It was brilliant. I’m still drooling. Fish, fish everywhere, what a treat!

-Great wasn’t it? They have these festivals every few weeks during the summer. It’s hard enough for us gulls to nick anything, though. Too many watchful humans around, unfortunately.

-Yes, the place was packed. Table after table of people eating platters of fish and seafood and drinking local wine. Quite a feast. A feast for the eye too.

-Da. So much temptation! Don’t tell anyone, Seamus, but yesterday I managed to get away with a beakful of calamari and a couple of nice fat sardines all the same.

-Good on you, Vlad! Or should I call you Vlad the Bad? I had to rely on my owners, or rather, owner, to give me a taste of the fare on offer. Her Ladyship is a fusspot, not into fish at all, but His Lordship shared his bream, squid and shark steak with me. They were all delicious.

-Lucky you! I’d have given my right wing for a taste of that shark. Never had one, bit difficult to catch out at sea …

-Ha ha, I bet!

-So where are you staying, Seamus? On one of those places with those strange little human nests amongst the trees?

-You mean campsite. Yes, we’ve a great spot with a wonderful view of the sea. It’s amazing!

-Can explain what that’s all about, Seamus? I’ve never understood it. What’s the attraction of those campy sides anyway?

-Campsites, Vlad. How do I explain it? … Here’s my theory: do you know the way gull chicks play around, you know, make believe? Pretend to catch sharks? Or at least sardines anyway.

-Da, sure!

-Basically, it’s make believe for adult humans. Playing ‘house’, to be exact.

-Right… but why?

-Well, in my opinion, the females are behind the whole idea. They’ve figured out that they just need to get their men into the woods, give them a makeshift shelter, stick them in front of a barbecue and bingo!

-Bingo, what?

-The men do all the work for them! This camping lark seems to bring out their machismo. They fiddle around the shelter for hours, getting it just right. Making shade, adjusting guy ropes and satellite dishes, pumping up mattresses. They barbecue the food and have even been known to wash dishes, for goodness sake. It’s a weird female magical spell, I reckon!

-Wow! But what’s that Barbie loo thing you mentioned, Seamus?

-A doll’s toilet…. No, Vlad, it’s barbecue. You know, like a mini version of those hot plates they cooked the fish on down at the festival yesterday.

-Ahhh! Now I get it.

-That reminds me, Vlad. You should have seen His Lordship barbecuing his dinner the other day. It was hilarious. He was cooking a nice fat bream and was fiddling around with the poor beast, just couldn’t leave it alone, when, suddenly, he somehow managed to flick its eyeball right out of the socket. It flew up in the air … and landed slap bang in the middle of the neighbours’ table! I nearly fell off my perch laughing!

-Aw, sweet! I’m sure the neighbours were delighted. Manna from heaven, what!

-Ah well now, Vlad, humans don’t appreciate such delicacies as fish eyeballs like we do.

-You mean they weren’t pleased?

-No, Vlad. In fact, I think they’ve been giving His Lordship the evil eye ever since.