Following on from last week’s dramatic posting, we were all hopeful that Steve would manage to survive, perched up on the roof under the watchful eye of his parents and, of course, ‘Steve-watch’. On a side note, it amazes me the number of people who keep their curtains wide open in the evening with the light on, parading around naked; Yes, woman across the road, I am talking about you. Every evening when you have seen us staring across, we are, in fact, on ‘Steve-watch’, not peering into your room. Nevertheless, we would all be more comfortable if you would kindly close your curtains.
On a more serious note, Steve fell off the roof last night. We did not see this happen, but his absence was noted yesterday morning, as we peered over, sheltering our eyes from the sun and failed to spot the chirping chick in his usual spot behind the chimney. This morning, I was awoken by the screeching of seagulls at the back of the house and chirping around the back garden, was the little brown lump, Steve.
Unfortunately, the toast popped up at that exact moment, so we were unable to carry on with Steve-watch and by the time breakfast was over, Steve was nowhere to be seen.
I like to think that he managed to find his way down to the Kinnesburn river and befriend the ducks. However, I sadly don’t think this is the case, and I fear it is the last time we will see Steve the seagull. I will miss him dearly.
The final sighting of Steve, by the bins.