When I moved to Brighton in 2014, I loved everything. I loved the beach, I loved the people, I liked the piers — I enjoyed everything about Brighton. But what I hated, from the moment I arrived, were the seagulls.

I never understood why we, as a population, tolerate their screeching, their evil stares, their habit of snapping up food, the relentless flapping of wings, that territorial attitude. Since 2014, I’ve always avoided them. I never spoke to them, never wanted to be anywhere near them.

That changed last week. A friend invited me to help out at a seagull sanctuary in Hailsham called Bird Aid — yes, it’s real, you can look it up. We drove there and met Julia, the charity organizer, who gave us our tasks: cleaning the sheds, scooping out dried feces, and refreshing their water.

To my surprise, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Somewhere between the scrubbing and refilling, I started to feel… connected. I began to see the seagulls differently.

I’ll never forget the time I went on a date in Hastings — of all places — and a seagull pooped on me. But I think I’m finally over it.

Now, after spending time with them, I’m happy to say I’ve made peace with the seagulls. They’re not so bad — in fact, they can be quite nice, if you don’t provoke them. So if you’ve ever felt the way I once did, I ask you to reconsider.