Tuesday, 30 March 2010

Quiet quiet quiet

Spurn, hmmm, quiet today.  Wind sfrom the south and a bit from the east but low pressure over the country.  Does that make a difference to the promotion of overshooting migrants?  I don't know what I'm talking about.  It's quiet today though.  As soon as I stepped out of the car I thought straightaway that there was little happening, movement-wise.
I went up big hedge to see if there really was little moving.
There was little moving.
The only passage was 10 Goldfinch and 4 Jackdaws that u-turned back north.
In the bushes, Goldfinch and Greenfinch - the usual fare.
On the fields, Mipits and Skylark - the usual fare.
Walked past the Warren toward (towards?) the gate when a THRUSH NIGHTINGALE started singing behind me!  Fuck me!  Turn back....
...Hang on, hang on a minute here. It started up just as a guy I'd just said "Alright!" to walked into the clearing there.  It stopped.  Then it started again.  Ah, it's a tape.  It's just a tape everybody, no panic.

Then I did panic.  How did I know for sure that it was a tape?  And how did I know that it was a Thrush Night?  I'm rubbish at calls and songs.  I should get an audio aid to help me recognise species by sound alone.  Can anyone reccommend one?  Who am I talking to?  No one!  Okay then.

Up Beacon Lane a Chiffchaff!  Far out!  More Goldfinch and Chaffinch and bastard Greenfuckingfinch and fucking Treebastardsparrows.  Shite.
Then it started to rain.


Saturday, 27 March 2010

KC blog II

Over to Eddie who sits next to me for this week's KC Stadium Watch:

"Now then.  Fulham at home.  3:03-4:50pm
Pretty quiet today really.  Wind: not much.  Direction: don't know.
3 Pigeons, 2 of which decided to briefly land on the pitch.  There was no players near them cos they were all chasing the ball around in a primary school playground fashion.
5 Seagulls.
2 Crows.
No Heron.  We saw one last season.
Also not seen today: kick-off, which we never see due to staying in pub too late and then we have to make everyone stand up in our row to get to our seats and they all tut.
I would like to point out that I've seen a California Condor and Q hasn't.
Also, Q asked me to add some gratuitous swearing, to fit in with the style of the blog, so the Condor was fucking massive and had a big cock.
Is that alright for you, Q?
Q?  Are you there?

Yes, I'm here, Ed.
What score was it today, Ed?

"We won 2-0".

Not bad.

"Look at the size of that thing!
It's caught a fucking cow....

...by it's head!"


Thursday, 25 March 2010


With spring in the air and a spring in my step due to me being finally crutchless a visit to Spurn was the order of the day.  On disembarking the car, the usual Spurn sound of a Linnet in song filled the air.  Then I noticed the little twat on the wires.  Shit!  I was trying to avoid them bastards.  It's taken me until 25th March to see a Linnet this year, a true sign of my stupidity.  I was seeing how long I could go without seeing one, to set new stupidity records.

It's been a while since my last visit to Spurn due to rehabilitation issues and what a difference to last time.  The Meadow Pipits were going mental in crazy parachute display teams alongside Skylarks singing like fucking madmen, all happy with the fact that spring was finally here and pretty soon they'd be putting their bird-cocks to good use for the first time since last year.

Finchii were moving in small numbers and Great Tits were conspicuous between the Crown and the Bluebell with at least 8 different birds a-teacher-teachering which is quite a lot.  Or is it?  Yeah, it's fucking loads!  So spring was here and it was a fucking lovely day, it really was, and I was off my crutches and the world was beautiful and so I stripped off, bollocko in celebration.  At one with nature, behold the fresh air and the new-found ability to walk!  I approached the Warren and a fucking Firecrest called to the right of me!  I had a look.  It was there.  Down to about 6 metres showing really well.  Firecrests are cool as fuck.  I shouted over another birder, who was strangely fully clothed.  Weirdo.  The Firecrest remained cool as fuck.

A few Red-Throated Loons were at sea but none showing any sign of their summer garb.  Can't they be bothered?  Lazy bastards.
Get changed.

A Sanderling went south and I counted 99 Curlew on the Humber, only because they're easy to count - I didn't count anything else.  99 is an odd number but the Curlews were obviously not concerned about going through the hundred mark otherwise they would've called on of their mates to join them.

Chiffchaff.  Where?  There on the stair.  Where on the fucking stair?  right there.
A little Chiffchaff.  There were 8 seen in the area today.  I saw 2.  Wheatear, another stalwart of the early migration season was flashing its white arse and uppertail coverts.  Does Wheatear really mean "White Arse" in old Norse or something?  Or is it something someone else has covered or I've seen it on QI or something like that?  Fuck knows.  I can't remember where I've read it.  Or dreamt it.
QI is hosted by closet birdspotter but openly gay Stephen Fry (Fig 1). Jesus!  Ashamed of bird-fancying but not of homosexuality?  Fuck me, the shame of being a birdspotter.  Fuck it, I'm getting a new pastime.  I don't even like birds anymore, it's a bit of a wimpy hobby.  I'm into something more manly now.  Really manly.  Like Wrestling....no, fighting....well, boxing....yeah BOXING!
"Where you going today, Spurn?"
"No, I'm off boxing, Mam".
"What about tomorrow?"
"I'll probably go BOXING again like a proper bloke".

A fucking Redwing was in the Churchyard, then betwixt Kilnsea and Easington, a Whooper was super.  Super dooper.  Then, like a trooper, I headed for Easington beach.  Two days after coming of crutches, I stupidly headed off into the wind.  On a beach.  With dodgy hips.  For about a mile.  The sand was getting blown between my testicles and the side of my leg.  I spotted five large gulls a long way down the beach.  Looks like I'm going to have to walk a bit and even then the Glaucous Gull that has been hanging 'round for a while isn't forced to be amongst them.  At this point I had to give in to the naturist celebration and had to put some shoes on.  Fuck me, my bollocks are rubbing like fuck on my leg with all the sand in between.  Some dog walkers saw me and shouted "Put some fucking clothes on you weirdo".  I told them to fuck off and started chasing them round the beach, laughing like a fucking MADMAN for added effect as they shit themselves as they tried to keep away from me.  Almost within identification range, when one of the loafing gulls got up and started flying towards me.  The unmistakable white flashes of the wing tips told me that the Glaucous Gull was about to make a close fly-past.  And close fly-past it did. 

I spent the afternoon beach-combing looking for valuable artifacts like a broken lobster pot and eventually found a pair of Admiral trainers.  Luckily the previous owner had tied the laces together before launching them into the sea.  That was thoughtful of him.

Fig 1.


Wednesday, 24 March 2010

Reasons to be cheerful, part III

Wahay!  At last!  I was unshackled from the hospital's iron fist yesterday afternoon which means I'm free to do what I want, any old time.  I said I'm free to do what I choose, like go to Hornsea Mere with small child where a Chiffchaff was chiffer-chaffering.  Ace. 

Small child fed the ducks and chased a coot that she seemed to like.  The coot did not seem to like her though and fucked off before she could get near enough to, say, kick it or poke it in it's tiny eye.

There were still plenty of Goldeneye around but not nuch else.
Went to Brid (lington) for fish, chips and Turnstones, although we only ate the chips and fish.  I don't know what Turnstone tastes like, I've only tried it once and that was years ago.

The missus says she is definitely fucking NOT a birdwatcher and says I should NEVER suggest that she is one, especially over the super-information highway that is the WorldWideWeb.  I showed small child a Pheasant from the car, which she looked at.  So did Nicola. 
"That's 15 species for the year for you" I said "In fact, I'm now going to put your sightings on the blog so that your mates think you're a closet twitcher!"
"You'd better not" she said "I don't want people thinking I'm a geek as well".
Nicola's year list is now 15 species. Latest species:  Pheasant (male).
Hang on a fucking minute.  Is she trying to say that I'm a geek? Is that what she meant?

Me, yesterday.


Monday, 15 March 2010

Beware the Ides of March

I seem to think it's not just the month of March that is referred to in 'The Ides of March'. Odd. The roman calendar has the 15th day of three or four months referenced as the Ides of March. Is it the 17th day of other months too? I'll Google it. No I won't. Who are you talking to? Not you. Me? No. What are you staring at?  You wanna make something of it?  Yes.  Outside.

Why have I posted the above?
I don't know.
Nearly up-to-date now, so some forthcoming posts might even be relevant to the current affairs of birding, in particular Spurn birding.  Might not as well.

And now your favourite Roman Emperor Julius Caesar as: Eddie Waring.
Tota gallia divisa est in tres partes Wigan, Hunslett and Hull Kingston Rovers.

Shamelessly raped from Monty


Saturday, 13 March 2010

Bird-related post (almost)

KC Stadium migration watch.  5:33 - 7:20p.m.  Wind: moderate SW

2 Feral Pigeons
2 Carrion Crows, perched on floodlight in the North/East corner
3 Herring Gull
1 Bastard Bendtner, spotted in our box in the last minute of the game kicking the ball into our net.  Shit.

Last year, me and Eddie (Eddie and I) watched a Grey Heron being mobbed by 3 Crows!  Which was infinitely better than the game.  Join us again in two weeks time for more KC Sightings - live from the KC Stadium!

"Can't wait, I wish you'd get well again so you can report from proper locations like Spurn, you boring twat".

Hey, I heard that.



Wednesday, 10 March 2010

Hello, I am Bored. I Have Nothing to Tell You About Birds or Birding Because I'm Bored And Cannot Go Anywhere. How's That For a Title?

Scrabble.  Scrabble?
I've invented a new game which will help develop childrens skills.  It's like Scrabble but with numbers instead of letters.  Good game huh?  Good idea.
The idea was quickly patented and a prototype made.  Dragon's Den next.
We had a test game to see what rules we need to implement, if any.
My imaginary opponent, who I will call Abdul for now, played the first move:
"What the fuck does that say, Abdul?" I said "Is it a proper number?"
"It's Seventy-one thousand, four hundred and sixty-one" said Abdul.
"Oh right, fair enough".
Then I went:
84647598 using his 4.
"Fucking sit on that, Abdul, I've used all my tiles so I get a 50 point bonus, get in there" I said.
"Eighty-four million, six-hundred and fourty-seven thousand, five-hundred and ninety-eight is a great word, well done".
Abdul went again.
"What the flying fuck does THAT say, Abdul for fuck's sake?"
"Twenty-nine thousand, nine hundred and eighteen"
"Oh, okay, it is a proper number.  Hang on Abdul, what tiles have you got left in your tile-racker thing?"
"Zero and zero".
"Well why didn't you add them on the end and spell Two million, nine-hundred and ninety-one thousand, eight hundred instead of Twenty-nine thousand, nine hundred and eighteen?  You'd have got the 50 point bonus for using all your tiles then Abdul".
"Oh yeah" said Abdul.
After that, me and Abdul got a fifty point bonus every time we went to the board which rendered it pretty fucking pointless.  Well, not "pointless" cos we got loads of points, I mean pointless as in "There's no point to this, Abdul".

We finished the game and withdrew our patent.

Next week: Ker-Plunk with Sugar- the new higher scoring version!

Me and Abdul were really very good at Numbers Scrabs.