Think of a classic Kent seaside scene and what comes to mind? Sandcastles? Definitely. Ice creams? Oh yes. A slightly dodgy brown discolouration in the water? Possibly. Queues at fish and chip shops? You bet.

But we can also add to that list – particularly after a particularly sun-drenched weekend – litter. And lots of it.

All the big coastal towns suffer from it – think Folkestone, Whitstable and Margate to name but three. The more popular you have become with the day-tripper, the more you fall victim to it.

Beautiful stretches of coastline end up looking like the aftermath of the Glastonbury Festival. Just with fewer abandoned tents.

The question is who - or what - is to blame?

There is no question that plenty of the mess originates from those folk equipped with minimal brain cells. After all, how difficult can it be to put your trash in a suitable receptacle?

There’s even that wonderful invention on many clothes called pockets in which you can stash your detritus until a suitable bin looms into view. Or, indeed, a bag.

So, and I’m giving us all the benefit of the doubt here, I’m assuming the vast majority of us don’t litter willy-nilly when on a day out. Just the dimwits who, I fear, will never change their misguided ways on account of their lack of intelligence.

Yet for any of us who have witnessed the packed bins come mid-afternoon, the biggest cause of the chaos is so often something with a similar sized brain to those aforementioned tourists.

Yes. I’m talking seagulls.

Because as ubiquitous as they are to the seaside, they have also realised there’s an easy feed courtesy of us humans.

We’ve all heard tales of them swooping down and pinching a sausage in batter out of hungry hands.

Moreover, your average adult seagull is about the size of a designer dog. So they have a bit of heft about them. It would be touch and go if you decided to pick a fight with one (not, of course, that anyone would, but you never know).

Yet the swoop-and-steal approach is often a bit too much like hard work for our winged friends. Why risk a clout, they think to themselves?

Because, unlike the litterbugs among us, they know what a bin is for.

So they’ll head there, safe in the knowledge there’ll be a wrapper with some chips lurking in there, maybe a half-eaten sandwich. If they’re unlucky, a used nappy. In short, our bins are their takeaways. And everything on the menu is free.

But seagulls are lacking something. Hands.

Which results in them flying in and taking a gamble by picking up the first thing that looks like it might contain food. Or using their beaks to rip open a bag to gorge on its contents.

And if at first they don’t succeed, they’ll have another go.

Hence, when you look at pictures of the mess left behind at our seaside towns, most are taken around a bin.

I’m certainly not absolving us humans of all blame – that would be taking this light-hearted look at the situation to an extreme of ludicrousness – but the humble seagull is, at least, partially responsible for spreading it around the place. They are, of course, blameless - they don’t know any better. They just want something to eat.

Especially when, with an overflowing bin, day-trippers bag up their scraps and place them next to it. At least they tried.

Now, if the bins were emptied more frequently on busy days, this situation may not occur. But that may just be a flight of fancy.