Birdsong?

Every morning I wake up at the crack of dawn. I am like a chicken, as soon as there is some light on the horizon, I seem to notice it in spite of black out curtains. If it isn't the light, I wake up because of the birds. Not by the serene and joyful chirping of house martins and doves as in Chambord, where everything was pure and fresh. Nor do the blackbirds sing at this time of year, the height of summer. But by the screeching of angry seagulls who land on the sport fields opposite my house, fighting and arguing. And it isn't  long before the first low flying charters heading for sunnier climes thwart my efforts to get some more sleep, soon followed by cars coming to life on the nearby motorway and noisy engines of various kinds. The sports fields of the high school opposite my house apparently need a lot of care so every morning since the school holidays have started tractors chase the seagulls away with their droning engines, and prevent any extra sleep. Moreover the walls of the school are being insulated from the outside and under high pressure injected with foam, the big trucks with the machines bleeping all the time as if they are reversing and have to warn people. But they are just parked in the same spot day after day and don't move at all. Why do those workmen have to keep such desperately early hours and disturb the whole street? How I long for martins and the smell of hay and freshly mown fields, the cooing of pigeons and birdsong. Chambord seems far away.