STEPHEN LEWIS takes flight from the gimlet-eyed geese of Stamford Bridge

I'VE been in a few scrapes in my time courtesy of members of the animal kingdom.

Stuck up a tree while a flock of aggressive sheep glowered belligerently at me from below (OK, OK, but I was only seven at the time); pursued from the home of an eminent racehorse trainer by a vicious little Jack Russell Terrier which for some reason took a dislike to my ankles; in danger of asphyxiation from the pong emanating from the armpits of an unusually smelly male gorilla at Chester zoo; and clinging for dear life to the back of a stubborn carthorse called Julia as she careered down the side of a mountain in Italy.

Nothing, however, had prepared me for my brush with the gimlet-eyed geese of Stamford Bridge.

I set off for the pretty East Yorkshire village in all innocence after learning of concerns about the growing duck population. I was still convinced it was all a lot of fuss about nothing as I parked in the main car park and fished for the slice of bread I'd brought with me.

But then, as I proceeded through the village towards the river, I caught my first glimpse of periscope-like heads bobbing above the mud banks, on the lookout for unsuspecting victims.

As I drew closer, the birds advanced on me, beady eyes fixed unblinkingly on my hands. At first, it was just the few birds closest to me. Then, as though at an unseen signal, the entire flock began hurrying towards me, each bird as determined as the next not to miss out.

There was something slightly sinister about this. There were so many it was as though the ground had begun to move. They reminded me of the Orcs closing in on their victims in the film of The Lord Of The Rings.

Within moments, I was surrounded. The geese were the worst, reaching up to peck at my pocket when I wasn't quick enough crumbling the bread in my hand. Beyond them, scurrying to capture every crumb I threw their way, were the mallard ducks.

Bread finished, I brushed my hands and moved away - only to be followed by a surge of ducks and geese unwilling to let me escape. It's the first time I've been mugged by a gaggle of hungry ducks.

Glazier David Rookes didn't seem bothered by the belligerent birds, however. He was leaning on the railings, munching a meat pie and watching as the birds scrabbled for the crumbs. He lived near Rowntree Park in York, he explained proudly, so he knew what was what with geese.

"I do know that they cr** everywhere and make a right mess," he admitted. "But I think they're hilarious." His mate Danny MacKenzie didn't seem so sure, however, retreating hastily to the shelter of his nearby white van to eat his lunch, pursued by a honking, quacking and hissing horde.

From the safety of the van, he regained his courage. "I think they're a laugh," he said, sticking his head out of the window. "They give us something to do in the dinner break."

Secure in the circle of his aunt Louise Tapsell's arms, little Andrew Tapsell was watching the ducks with huge, fascinated eyes. At the age of one and a half, he wasn't quite ready to tell me how much he liked them; but it was obvious just from looking at him. He and Louise were surrounded, however, when the birds realised there was food to be had. Louise stooped and lifted him up.

"I think they're great!" she said, laughing, "I love them! But that one got a bit close for comfort." Andrew, looking reproachfully down at the clamouring birds, seemed to agree.

The parish council is so worried about the number of ducks and geese that it is looking at ways of controlling them. Suggestions include a partial cull, transferring the birds elsewhere - or stopping people from feeding them.

Despite the nuisance they can cause, it's far from clear how popular such measures would be.

Louise's boyfriend Tim Warman looked aghast at the thought of a cull. "They're part of Stamford Bridge!" he said.

The forecourt of The Kabin, the newsagent cum filling station right on the riverbank itself, is regularly overrun by birds. Mike Lawson, who works there, says he wouldn't have anything against a selective, partial cull - or against some of the birds being moved elsewhere.

But even he admits to a certain fondness. He sings the praises of George, an elderly goose which has apparently taken a family of young ducklings under his wing and regularly helps shepherd them across the road.

Stamford Bridge wouldn't be the same without the birds, Mike says. "They're all right as long as they stay on the grass. People enjoy bringing their kids to see them. And it brings people to the village. I'm sure they stop off to feed them on the way to the coast."

Me, I'm just glad to have escaped with my ankles intact.

Updated: 10:59 Tuesday, January 22, 2002