Thursday, 2 July 2009


Went to Spurn, I thought the wader numbers may have started to build upon the Humber.  The wader numbers had started to build up on the Humber.  Here are the numbers, but to make this shit at least a little bit interesting (for me, not you) below is a GRID! that simplifies the numbers into a phrase making it easier to read e.g. 'mega' = 1 bird seen, and 'shit common' = around 400 seen.  Get it?  Yes I know it's pointless and a bit shit but stay with it during these birdless summer months.

The GRID! :

Made up                   =  0 birds
Mega                        =  1 bird
Rare bastard             =  2-10 birds
Getting bored            =  11-50 birds
Fucking really bored  =  51-100
Not worth a shite       =  100-300 birds
Shit common             =  about 400

Knot                                -  shit common
Dunlin                              -  fucking really bored
Black-tailed Godwit         -  rare bastard
Yellow Warbler                -  made up
Redshank                         -  getting bored
Ringed Plover                   -  rare bastard
Herring Gull (not a wader) -  rare bastard
BH Gull (not a wader)       -  getting bored
Grey Plover                      -  made up
Curlew                             -  getting bored
Oystercatcher                   -  rare bastard

After cross-referencing the sightings with the GRID! you can clearly see that Grey Plover were unusually low in number (0) and today were just as common as Yellow Warbler (0) whereas Redshank were quite numerous (11-50).

I've read that back to myself and have decided to delete it cos it's all bollocks.
Hang on, if I delete it and re-write it you'll never know that I wrote that originally (we don't care I hear you cry) so I'll leave it in but at this point you need to pretend that I've deleted it.  Got it?  Right, start again.....

Went to Spurn, I thought the wader numbers may have started to build upon the Humber. The wader numbers had started to build up on the Humber. Here are the numbers:

Knot -  around 400
Dunlin -  60+
Black-tailed Godwit - 6

Yellow Warbler - 0
Redshank - 30+
Ringed Plover - 7
Herring Gull (not a wader) - 8
BH Gull (not a wader) - 18
Grey Plover - 0
Curlew - 15+
Oystercatcher -  4

Surprisingly no Grey Plover or Yellow Warbler.
Don't know which version is the best really.

On the way hometh, a dead bird on the road looked like a Cuckoo which finally led me to start thinking of other onomatopaeic like the Cuckoo, apart from the one on the road cos it was never going to "Cuck-oo" again I'm afraid.

Chiffchaff, there's one....erm....Peewit.......Curlew............erm....Kittiwake?  Is that one?  Erm....Yellowhammer, no that's something else about bread and cheese.  Hoopoe?
Pechora Pipit?  No, that's just being stupid.
But it would be a laugh if a Pechora Pipit really was onomatopaeic though and did call it's name......."Pechora Pipit......Pechora Pipit....." as it flew over an east coast headland.  I then reckoned that the call would be in a broad Scottish accent!  Don't know why.  Imagine it "Pechora Pipit.......Pechora Pipit.......fuckin bastad......Pechora pipit.........."

Barry Spence, former Warden of Spurn and former club owner, walks upto me near the gate.
"Barry, I've just had a Red-throated Pipit fly south", said I.
"Did it call?"
"Yes, Barry it did!"
"Can you describe the call?" asked Barry.
"Well it sort of sounded like, erm, Pechurrra Peeepit...."
"Ah, did it have a Scottish accent as well?" asked Bazza again.
"Actually, yes it did".
"Well, I think it was a Pechora Pipit to be honest, Red-throated Pipits call like this ' red-throaaaaaaaaaaated Pipeeeet' with a Scandinavian accent.  You'll need to fill in a submissions form and send it in"  Big Baz informed me.

Barry then did the strangest thing.  He turned and started skipping away down the road towards the Bluebell!  He just started skipping down the road!  Mad!  He didn't stop.He had to hold onto his glasses at one point he was skipping so furiously.  By now I had to follow him with my binoculars as he headed off up Beacon Lane and he skipped and skipped until he disappeared over the brow of the hill towards Beacon Ponds. 

What had got into Barry?

Had his head gone over my poor identification skills of ononatopaeic vagrant pipits that even give their identity away by calling their own name in broad Scottish accents?

I suppose we'll never know........

Whatha furk are yee looooken at?


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