Damn seagulls

IT'S divebombing season again - I nearly got attacked when I went for a Monday morning training session yesterday.

One of my regular running routes, which I use especially when I'm coming back from injury, involves as many laps as I think I can handle of The Oval, the field where Llandudno Cricket Club play.
Yesterday I'd barely completed half a lap before I heard the angry screech of a mother seagull overhead, protecting her nest from what she thought might be danger. Now, I love running and there are very few things that can stop me indulging my passion - I'll try to run through rain, hail, a blizzard, whatever. I've even tried to "run off" a torn calf muscle and various stress fractures in the past, invariably with very painful consequences.
But as I circled The Oval this mother-squawker became more and more incensed at me, and with each lap she swooped closer and closer to my head whenever I invaded her territory. By the sixth lap I swear this bird's shadow was the size of an albatross as it descended towards me, and I was getting angry, real angry - not to mention scared! I seriously just calling it a day, but eventually made it through unscathed after 35 minutes and too many laps for a Monday morning. Me 1 seagull 0.
Apologies, by the way, to triathlete Rhian Roxburgh for getting her name wrong in my last blog! I called her Rhian Davies, which of course is her maiden name. Sorry Rhian, and well done on your second Welsh title of the season at the weekend (more of that in Wednesday's Daily Post).