Marian is out here for a week, which is lovely (of course, it's only Day 2 of the visit, but I'm willing to stick my neck out). It has also, I assume completely coincidentally, decided to blow a hurricane. Last night we were kept up by the wind howling through the cracks in my previously impermeable window, and we woke up this morning to horizontal rain and the noise of flags tearing themselves free from their flagpoles. So, naturally, we decided to go and feed the ducks: they're having a tough enough time of it without having their rations withdrawn simply because a spot of drizzle. All was going well until we attracted the attention of the large flock of seagulls at the other end of the Tjörn.
Assyrians and wolves on the fold had nothing on it. Except the number of purple and gold seagulls one sees is probably limited. But it soon became an all-out war between the swimmers and the flyers, with the seagulls (unable to get video footage of this) dropping down to pick bread off the waters, and occasionally off the backs of the ducks and swans, when the bread didn't fly quite where we wanted it to go. Of course, the swimmers had their secret weapon
which was probably the most impressive thing I saw today, even if I have not a clue what it is. Battle finished once we ran out of ammunition.
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