The biggie travels alone they say and so it proved today at Spurn. Erm...sort of. Well, not at all really. So why am I telling you this? The winds were right, a bit of cloud cover, could've done with a touch of drizzle but it still should've been better than it turned out. It's a strange spring here at Spurn peninsula. I covered everywhere and I know that everywhere had already been covered, big hedge, clubley's, the narrows, chalk bank, point dunes, the triangle and all I had to show for it were 2 Cuckoo and a Whinchat. So yeah, the biggie travels alone, apart from on this occasion the 'biggie' was an Icterine fucking Warbler! Certainly not a biggie, but relatively speaking today, it was a biggie. You see where I'm coming from? No? Oh well fuck you then. But then a Golden Oriole was found so there were now two 'relative biggies' which fucked up the theory of the biggie travelling alone. So if two biggies travel alone but they're only relative biggies, then they can't have travelled alone, even though they're only biggies relative to the day's migrants, so therefore the biggie maybe does travel alone as these two aren't genuine biggies, so the theory remains intact but then I can't see where the theorum (?) applies to todays story. Get it? So today's title is "The Biggie Travels Alone", which I've already written it at the top of the page I'm looking at it right now, although we've just proved that that title isn't relevant to todays post so I'm gonna change it. I could change it to anything. Anything at all. That title isn't relevant, so that means nothing has to be relevant. Fuck it, I'm gonna change it to erm "Mr Kipling's Exceedingly Good Inflatable Cock Cakes". There, I've done it. I can do what I want. In fact, I'm gonna change it again. Just because I can. Right then. "Big Floppy Donkey Cocks". There. No, I don't like that one. Something better, something to draw the punters in with. Erm, "Birder Bill Oddie and His Amazing Ripe Bellender". That'll do. I've changed it. There. That should get people interested in this hopelessly drawn-out post. This is now officially the longest paragraph in history. I'm not starting a new one, no way. Not now. Not now I've got this far. Just you try and make me. The Icterine Warbler was impossible to see but sang intermittently and the Golden Oriole fucked off just as I arrived at canal hedge. Great. Join us next time for a new paragraph, but definately no explanation of how a bellend can be ripe.