DURING the recent heatwave, Janet and I spent a lovely day in Filey and bought fish and chips from the best take-away in town. It’s easy to find: it’s the chippie with the longest queue.

Into the Memorial Park Gardens we go to fully savour them but we’re pestered by squawking seagulls.

“These birds are cheeky blighters,” says Janet as two enormous ones edge closer to our feet.

I toss a couple of chips onto the grass a few yards away but the birds soon return unsated.

Janet says, “I love to feed the birds but this is ridiculous. These are like gangsters.”

“Gangsters? You should see the seagulls in Wollongong. Even the Australian police keep their distance.”

“Gerraway! Oh, but I’d love to visit Australia. The name ‘Wollongong’ sounds so indigenous. Wollongong, billabong, Goolagong” she says, dreamily. “Seagulls would never put me off travelling there no matter how cheeky they are. What’s the city like?”

This is the story I relate:-

It’s January 2010, and the hottest day of the Australian summer, when I travel south on the coastal train to Wollongong. We pass East Carrimal, Towradgi and the beautifully named, Fairy Meadows. I’m so looking forward to seeing the harbour I’ve heard so much about. I’m told it has a massive, natural rockpool, as big as a lido that is refreshed twice-daily when the ocean waves roll in. My Uncle Mike has also described the gorgeous fish and chip shop on the harbour wall, but warns about the crazy seagulls.

The main street leading to the harbour is wide and steep with a narrow, cleverly constructed, stream flowing down the middle where the white line usually runs. I pass many retired Aussies relaxing in the shade, drinking coffee and playing outdoor chess on the giant boards.

I find the famous rockpool that another uncle – Uncle Frank – used to bathe in daily.

Half a dozen people are already swimming lengths, and after 20 minutes of front crawl I’m ready for lunch. So, making sure I’m well-protected from the Australian sun I walk over to the chippie.

It’s a relatively modern building with two loudspeakers fastened to the top, and every so often an announcement is made in a slow Australian drawl:

“Would customers please avoid feeding the seagulls. They will attack.”

I look through the shop window to check out the menu. I see whiting, cod, barramundi and red snapper. Behind the counter, in a white hat, an assistant is flicking a switch on the microphone to warn, again, about the seagulls.

I choose red snapper for the first time in my life and it comes in a box with chips and a sprinkling of salt and vinegar.

The public benches are in the shade and I join a family who are sat enjoying their fried meal.

Pffft! I don’t know what all the fuss is about.

These birds are nowhere near as scary as they make out. I was expecting a scene from the Hitchcock movie and all I got was Mary Poppins. How odd. These Australians must be right scaredy-cats.

Then it happens.

Attacking from out of the sun, like a WWII Messerschmitt, comes the biggest, meanest bird I’ve ever seen. I feel the same terror I felt when a swan went for me down at the Fleets. The father’s battered fish is snatched away in a split second.

I panic and run as the couple and their son scream hysterically. But after I‘ve gathered myself, I realise they’re not hysterical at all – they’re laughing uncontrollably and I feel a complete wuss.

I carry on walking away, closing the lid on my meal to discourage other hostile raiders.

Now my attention is back on the two scavengers in Filey that are almost standing on our toes again.

“Come on,” I say to Janet, closing the lid on my fish and chips and pretending to check my watch. “Let’s finish these off on our way back to the car. I don’t want a ticket.”

“A ticket? We’re not even late. Hang on... have those seagulls spooked you.”

“Spooked me? What makes you think that?” I answer, but my high-pitched tone betrays my true feelings.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely to live in Wollongong?” says Janet.

I’m shocked. I stare at her over my specs and pause. “Yes, Wollongong is truly delightful but, come on - it’s not like Tarn, is it?”