In a flurry of wings, the predator was off with its prize: a steaming pasty snatched from the hands of a day tripper from Birmingham. “What do you want me to do about it?” her unsympathetic husband said. “I can’t fly.”
Such a scene has become an almost daily spectacle on the Scarborough seafront, said Amy Watson, a supervisor at the Fishpan restaurant, where hungry herring gulls lurk for their quarry.
