Sunday, 25 December 2011

Slade are shit

There are people who live in Pudsea, there are children who come from darkest Wales, and there are tribes in deepest Borneo that know and love my cauliflower cheese. They even order id online and bay vor id through Baybal. But not today. Christmas fucking dinner was a right state. And I'm usually not bad on the pans really. Still. Could be worse. I could be a darkie employed by John Terry.

As a slave.


With Luis Saurez working as interpreter

it's all bollocks mind. Saurez racialist? He's mixed race! Erm...hello?

The F.A. Stupid cunts who back themselves into a corner over every controversial decision. Seriously.
The Evans of the football world. Brings it on himself, etc.'p
jqq.g1gj.qtz¥y9.aM zzqbj.@@''''poollpp''llppol

Jesus. I fell asleep, wrecked, mid-post and Olivia got hold of my phone and posted the above. Really. She did. It's probably better than what I'd have done, especially the bit about poollpp"llppol which is brilliantly written. I'll leave it at that. I was going to tell you about a bleak Christmas day at Spurn, a Coot, 10,000 Knot and a naked girl who just loves performing fellatio on strangers. But I won't bother.

All the best and that. Ball tits.


Friday, 23 December 2011

How to pad.

I've just read the last entry. BeJaysus I must've been drunk. Well, I actually KNOW that I was was drunk but you know what I mean. Why in the name of All That is Holy would I sit there surrounded by empty Scrumpy Jack cans, a tub of king prawns from Macro, and a copy of Playboy the Vera Duckworth edition, making up rather tedious jokes about Cluedo? Granted, in this state there was certainly not going to be any ground-breaking discussion on the field identification of first winter Empidonax flycatchers or an open paper on the merits of fitting wheels to a Swan. No way. But surely I can come up with something a little better? As this is the first sober post ever written on Q@Spurn I'll tell you what I'll do from now on. I'll simply write utter shite whilst absolutely BOLLOCKSED on strong cider and add random childish jokes, then a few days later come on berating the lack of substance and general standard in the previous post. Hey Presto, two irrelevant posts from absolutely no background information whatsoever thus padding out the blog!

Being sober, I'm even using proper words like 'granted', 'thus' and 'melancholy' although I haven't used that one yet but I'm sure I will somewhere.

When I write 'thus' predictive text gives me these options: Tits, tits, and thus. Not a bad choice. Not bad at all.

I'll be back sometime and properly try and tell you something about my birding trips. Melancholy, I just can't bring myself to. I just can't. I'm sorry.

Life is but a melancholy flower. I'm off now to put Slade on the stereogram and eat pork pie. And it's the only time of year when ANYBODY actually eats red fucking cabbage. And I fucking love red cabbage.


Sunday, 18 December 2011


Good evening. The people over on Birdforum edited my (and other people's) posts to make it look like the word MINGES is no longer acceptable on Mingeforum. It got through at first but was heartlessly changed at the last minute. I am truly devastated. The one and only major contribution to ornithology I could offer and it gets cut. Jesus.


Christmas is coming. I bought eldest the new Iraqi version of Cluedo. It was fucking shite. No one could find the weapons.

Just bought the new gang rape version of Cluedo. They all did it.

Just bought the new JFK version of Cluedo. They did it but then someone else might've done it.

Just bought the new twitching version of Cluedo. Evans saw the Pacific Swift at Cley with a candlestick.

I'll delete that it was very poor.

Just bought the new football version of Cluedo. Gary Speed did it with the Rope in the garage.

Jesus that was a bit sick. Ho hum. Big black cocks.


Monday, 12 December 2011

Diary of a Madman. Ozzy sang that didn't he?


Sunday morning.

5:25 a.m.
Downstairs making a coffee.
Drank said coffee. Felt somewhat better than I had done 5 minutes previous after the previous night's 8 Ace.
Got ready. Got scope and bins at the ready. Got van keys at the ready so I could pick up big work coat for warmth from it. The van is parked around the corner.
The Secret Twitcher picks me up and we set off towards the Humber bridge.
Forgot to pick up big work coat from the van.
Arrived at Cley.
Saw a Western Sand. It is one. Honest.
Western Sand goes to sleep. Continued watching it sleep. Looked at it's feathers and that.
Dunlin walks in front of Western Sand and stops. Dunlin goes to sleep.
Golden Plover walks in front of Dunlin that is in front of Western Sand and stops. Golden Plover goes to sleep.
another Dunlin walks in front of Golden Plover that is in front of Dunlin that is in front of Western Sand.
Western Sand is no longer visible, rufous scaps and all.
Dunlin no.2 moves.
Golden Plover moves.
Dunlin no.1 moves.
Western Sand wakes up. Has a preen with it's big fuck off decurved, fine tipped beak. Wanders around for a bit. Has a piss. Goes right and I lose it. Not as in 'go mental' I just lost sight of it.
Secret suggests that we 'go round there' which I took to mean 'go around to Coastguards for a look for Little Auk'. I didn't know that the Western Sand had flown towards Simmond's scrape. I went along with the suggestion. Maybe in hindsight Secret was suggesting that we 'go round to Simmonds'.
Arrived at Coastguards. Saw Red Necked Grebe. And 2 Red Throats. A man told me that I must be hard as I had no gloves on. I punched him splintering his teeth.
Agreed to go back for a second look at the Western.
Arrived at a hide that was dedicated to the memory of Colin Mayo. 'I bet he was saucy' I said. This was my best joke of the day yet Secret didn't even hear it. And it is, clearly, a brilliant joke.
No further sign of the Western. A couple of White Fronts. A Water Pipit. Set off home.
A pheasant walks into the road very stupidly. It was trying to get out of our path when Secret SWERVED VIOLENTLY and DELIBERATELY ran the poor defenceless bird over with 1.2 tonnes of metal travelling at 60mph. What a mean bastard.
Arrived home.
'Eight Ace'.
Realised that eight Ace was not going to be enough for the night's drinking.
'Eight Ace'.
20:00 perhaps?
Really fucking drunk. Finally managed to make the word 'minges' legal on Birdforum on the Western Sand thread. You are now allowed to use the word 'minges' on Birdforum without fear of reprisal.
Passed out with my face landing in a curry so hot that it could revive Secret's poor DEAD pheasant with one spoonful.

Great day out. Good to finally meet Mr Secret. And of course he didn't really mean to KILL that tiny bald beautiful baby bald pheasant.


Saturday, 10 December 2011

Hello, Hello, it's good to be back, it's good to be back...

Well. It's been a while. How are all 3 of you? Me? Oh I'm fine thanks. Thanks for asking. Since my last post I've moved house, seen an Isabelline Wheatear at Spurn, plastered Livvy's room and painted it fucking Apricot (Apricot?), dipped a bastard Solitary Sand, watched re-runs of Supergran (Hang about. Look out. For Super Gran), seen a Long Toed Stint that turned into a Temmink's then a Pec then a Baird's then a horse before finally becoming a Little Stint, been to Spurn several times but not as often as I should've, and watched Tiswas on Dave every Saturday morning. In the mush In the mush In the mush.

I'll tell you what. The Izzy Wheat was nice. I hitched from L**ds back in 1990 for the last one and missed it by...erm...not much. So a British and therefore Yorkshire mother fucking tick! Speaking of mother fuckers, did you watch the Mosconi Cup last night? It's the US of A versus Europe at American pool. It all kicked off when big Rodney offered my mate Darren Appleton out live on air! Darren's from Pontefract and used to be a really good boxer. Big Rodney turns to him and says 'maybe we should just go outside in the street mother fucker' live on Sky Sports! Great pool action.

So. I first saw the Izzy in flight and it was striking how pallid it was.
'yep, clearly an Izzy' I thought to myself. Then I got on it on the deck. Nice, but not as striking. The lads down there had a bit of trouble confirming it I think as Gibbo had seen it at around 1 o'clock but it was only confirmed around 3 after they'd caught the little blighter.

Oh, and Man U went CRASHING out of the Champs League. I'm still smiling now.

You can buy the new Man U perfume for the missus for Christmas. Channel No.5


Sunday, 25 September 2011


Jesus holy mary mother of god.  There's mega RBA stars all over the place. But none at all close to my home.  The best I've done lately was to go and have an 'educational' look at the 'educational' American Black Tern.  An 'educational' bird, it showed brilliantly after the long (for my hips) trudge around the bank.  I'd seen photos of the Farmoor (is that correct?) bird from a couple of years ago and read some literature on this (sub) species and was NOT bowled over immediately by the bird in the flesh.  When you read about tricky birds when you actually see them they usually stand out through jizz mainly I find, Pacific Goldie for example, though this was much more subtle.  Even at this range it was sometimes hard to tell where the auxillaries ended and the flanks began, making the feature of 'dark flanks' not as obvious as I would have imagined.  This feature is obvious in the photos splashed about though and is clearly an indication of just how shite I am.  Covenham Reservoir is not that far from Spurn as the crow flies so Mr Hutt has probably picked it out already from Clubley's and added it to the Spurn list! 

Still, a good bird, nay a great bird.  Distinctive in the end after a decent grilling.
Photos are on the finders' website here.  I love the head-on shot (9th photo down).

Fuck me I was drunk last night.  Not as drunk as last Sunday though I suppose.  Or Tuesday come to think of it.  Nicola tells me what I get upto the next morning just so I know.  Apparently last night I kept falling into deep, uncontrollable giggling fits like a little girl for no apparent reason whatsoever with, and I quote, "tears rolling down my face".  Sounds like a good night.  Just wish I could remember what the fuck I was laughing at because it was clearly highly amusing.

Glenn "Ollie" Oliver, whose father is hopeless at The Sun Dream Team, is working in South Africa (...and I've never met a nice South African and that's not bloody surprising man cos they're a bunch of arrogant bastards who hate black people) and has sent me a nice photo of a dickie bird he's seen there.
Here it is.

Hornbill sp.  Let's see that again heavily cropped.

Ah, Yellow Billed Hornbill.
Ollie described it as "I don't know what the fuck that is but it looks hungry".
Too right Ol.
Fucking too right.


Friday, 16 September 2011


The woods.....and the darkness....and the howling vind,
will the snows never cease, they seem to reach back for ever.

After Garry Yorkslister had relocated the Semi-P the previous night at Patrington Haven, I decided to brave the howling vind and have a look down there.  It was probably the least successful days birding I have ever had.  And believe me that's against some pretty stiff competition.  On balance I probably identified around 3% of all birds seen today with the howling vind buffeting, nay, BUFFETING me and my optical equipment which included an onslaught of 3 tuna triangle sandwiches, a party sausage roll, a pineapple/sausage/cheese combo on a stick, and 4 obligatory mushroom vol-au-vonts!  Buffeting?  Get it? 

Meanwhile......the howling vind continued.  Some distant waders had some black either on their breast or belly (I couldn't tell) which made them either Dunlin or Turnstone.  Not sure which.  Then a few more were narrowed down to Plover sp. with either Grey, Ringed or White-tailed the favourites.  A curlew was fully identified until it flew directly into the air and sort of swirled around then hit the deck not far from me to reveal it's true identity as a bag.  A dead bag at that.  All the other waders present didn't even make it to genus level, entering the mental notepad as 300 wader sp!  How's that for cutting edge birding?  Then a dazzling kingfisher shot across before my very eyes.  Result! An identified bird, even down to species level!  10 pipits (obviously Pipit sp.) fed not far away when I noticed a much paler and taller bird amongst them!  12 hours of grilling later I decided it was a juvenile Yellow Wagtail.  A cream-crown flew across the sand dunes and salty air shitting up the wader sp, the Dunlins/Turnstones, the plover sp and the bag.  Some of the Shelduck flew but some didn't.  There.  Just thought you needed to know that.

The woods.....and the darkness....and the howling vind,
will the snows never cease, they seem to reach back for ever.


Saturday, 10 September 2011

The Satellite Tracked Cuckoos

Interesting reading about the satellite tracked Cuckoos which are now in their wintering grounds south of the Sahara.  You can read about it on Birdguides here.  Basically the project caught five Cuckoos and tagged them with a tracking device.  Expensive tracking devices mind.  The results were this.  We know of course that Cuckoos winter in Africa south of the Sahara but some Cuckoos took a westerly route through Spain and some took a more easterly route through Italy but they all, upto now, have ended up in the same general area.

General approximated migration routes.
Notice the blue route, the Cuckoo stopped in Senegal for
some time (probably refuelling) before relocating to the "correct" wintering grounds.
Also notice the red Cuckoo naturally avoiding Malta.

I questioned why such behavior should occur.  Birds must migrate using a combination of magnetic north, the sun, the moon, the stars (?) etc yet using any of the last three would also mean a explicit comprehension of time, i.e. set off a month later and the sun is in a different position, nay, set off an hour later and the sun is in a different position!  Instinct?  Instinct is widely used in the animal kingdom, less so in humans, frogs returning to their places of birth to breed, Salmon likewise, insects copying the behavior of their oft long dead parents.  Is instinct genetic?  It must be.

The blue Cuckoo must be taking the route one of it's parents took, the red Cuckoo likewise.  Both parents were successful (i.e. they arrived and returned fit and well to provide offspring) so instinct surely tells the offspring that this journey is the way to go.  No one way is the "right" way to go, different means, same outcome i.e. both routes finish in the general target area.  This project is fundraising to be able to sat-track these birds for another year (and beyond).  I'd wager the blues and the reds take the same west or east routes when they migrate next year, both to and from England although the blue will surely take a more direct route when going north.

Something's just occurred to me.  The blue route actually skirts the Sahara!  It doesn't cross the Sahara directly, it follows the cooler coast then when south of the desert, cuts east to the target area.  This could be an individual thing, i.e. the Cuckoo itself starts to cross the Sahara and doesn't feel strong enough at that time, so skirts it and refuels in downtown Senegal before heading east.

Instinct in animals is well known yet we as humans feel we learn instead of it being genetic.  Since we cracked the genome this has changed somewhat with some studies showing that instinct is indeed genetic even in humans, for example a gene on chromosome 7 actually turns on an instinct for learning grammar!  Amazing brilliant stuff.  But not everything is genetic in humans.  You would've thought that a fear of snakes is a natural in-built deterrent.  It's not, something like that has to be learnt.  Imagine your 8 month old daughter, she'd poke and prod at a huge spider that's near her, yet your 4-year old would run off!  True, this is a generalisation and not all would run off, but if you have a mother, say, that warns your little girl of spiders, in turn your little girl will learn to run from spiders.  It's the done thing.  Mummy taught me subconsciously.

So, instinct is built-in genetically.  So what?  Well, apply this to vagrant birds.  It has been questioned before whether vagrants who do this "reverse migration" are maybe challenged genetically.  Indeed the Cornwall Varied Thrush was of a form very rarely observed even in the U.S. so the chances of it arriving here seems minute!  Unless of course it was genetically programmed to "go the wrong way" and to have strange plumage then this would greatly increase it's chances of turning up here.  If the next one is of this form then proof therein!

Could we combine the two (main) subjects above?  i.e. Could we sat-tag 100 Yellow Brows in Asia and watch 99 of them winter in Indo-China whilst watch the poor lone genetically challenged mite arrive dumped in Kilnsea churchyard?  Then the fun would really start!  Where would the Yellow Brow go next?!  What amazing viewing.  If it had done this reverse-migration thing then what would be the chances of it trying to continue north or west?  To watch it's signal lurch out into the Atlantic continuing it's supposed journey to it's wintering grounds "target area" only to sadly lose the signal 200 miles out would be quite something.  Not for the Yellow Brow of course.  I'm guessing, but who knows?  It would and could be one of the greatest ornithological projects, although expensive.  I for one would put into the fund to see it happen.  Would you?

I suppose it would be quite a long shot to actually tag a vagrant.  Also is the equipment too large for a Yellow Brow?  I presume so.  Miniturisation.  Maybe in a few years?

Please leave comments, I'm interested in opinions on this.

And you thought I couldn't go a whole post without doing a childish cock joke or adding some stupid picture.  Well there you go, I am sensible after all.  It was even about birds!

Finally have a look at this interesting flight migration route of the last sat-tracked Cuckoo. See how it ends up wintering somewhere in north east Germany!

I've spoilt it now.
That was quite a good post (for me) until then.


Wednesday, 7 September 2011

Birding. Yes, birding. No Trevor Francis. No Metal Fury. Just a Pure Unadulterated Birding Tale

Honestly.  Fuck Trevor Francis.  I don't need to write short childish verses about him anymore.  I went out yesterday.  In the field!  I know you can't believe it that Q has now got the all clear from the Doctor clearly of eastern origin to drive, which means I can drive to places like Cornwall for a great seawatch, Shetland for rare hunting, and The Scillies to regain it's lost reputation by finding 14 mega rare American Yankee Doodle Dendroica Dandies.  Today I went to Barton.  Far Ings.

First up, Chowder Ness for a bit of Gulling and the very probable chance of a Semi-P or better.  I'd even settle for a Baird's.  Here's the cracking results:

3 Curlew
4 Black Headed Gulls
3 Teal (east on the Humber)


[still pausing]

Now that you're over the shock of my finds I'll continue with wild tales of deprivation, rock 'n' roll sex orgies and a photographer whose battery had ran out on his camera and he had to go back to his car to get his spare!  Crazy days.

Far Ings was a little bit quiet as well although a crazy hybrid duck with the head pattern of a teal, the head shape of a wigeon and the body of a tank did warrant closer inspection.  It also had the tertial plumes of a Falcated.  In fact I think there was a bit of Falcated (this bit is true honestly) in this duck.  Or maybe not. 

A young male Marsh Harrier did a fly-by so close to the hide that I could actually see it's wings, it's head and it's body.  A Cormorant fed on fish, probably Sturgeon, and the Coots were just swimming about minding their own business and not really doing much.  One swam about 5 metres to the right then, amazingly, turned and swam towards me, only to turn again back in the direction from where it had come then it carried on feeding and that.  This is the level of excitement that was witnessed here at Far Ings.  Truly shite and a very good example of why I should not write about birding and continue with odes to Trevor Francis.

Oh Trevor Francis,
I was you had wings,
Then I could spot you,
From the hide at Far fucking c.



Tuesday, 23 August 2011


With easterlies about to hit the coast I decided to try to see if I'd be okay to drive the car, against doctor's advise.  It didn't feel right and I had a bit of pain just after so that's that fucked then.  Not happy.  It was going to be a dawn raid on Spurn this morning.  Upto now it seems I'm not missing much though.

The cricket was good though eh?  Apart from the distinct absence of a certain Mr Trevor Francis.  Even the commentators noticed he wasn't there.  Bumble Lloyd even said during commentary "...Ohhh, he's bowled him!  Swann's bowled him, he's played on.  It's all over, England win the series 4-0, it's a white wash!  England have outplayed India in all departments.  It's just a shame Trevor Francis isn't here.  Has anyone tried to ring him to see if he's alright?"  Trevor Francis, first million pound player.  Was he the first million pound player only from a British perspective?  Brum to Forest.  Must've been a British transfer record.

Here's a few for you then, who was the first TWO million pound+ player...
     a) the world? 
     b)  ...involving a British player?
     c)  ...between two British clubs?
No Googling you bastards.  The person with the first correct answers will receive a holiday for four in Tenerife, £500 spending money, and four Trevor Francis masks including two junior sizes for the kids. 
Please give preferences for your departure dates in your answer.  Holiday is for two weeks and is non-transferable.  Holiday is based upon family of four, self catering.  Destination in Tenerife to be confirmed before departure.  No employee of Q@Spurn can enter.  Terms and Conditions apply.  Suck my balls.

Oh Trevor Francis,
I say with a tear,
Here at the Oval,
Why weren't you here?

Now Trevor Francis,
As it's getting windier,
I thought I should tell you
We've beaten India.

So why, Trevor Francis,
Was it the weather
Why you never came
To hear willow and leather?

Swanny bowled well,
We took all our chances,
We missed you so dearly
Oh, Trevor Francis.

So which is better?
Us beating the tourists
Or being European Champions
With Nottingham Forest?

So one final question,
I'm not being clever
But who in their right minds
Would call somebody "Trevor"?

Was it your parents
Did they not like you?
I know they're from Plymouth,
Did they do it to spite you?

I read your life story
Your parent's are central
But calling you fucking Trevor
Are they fucking mental?

'An Ode to Trevor Francis', taken from "No Darkness for Love" by Barbara Cartland 1974.

Trevor as a newly-wed with his new wife Karen Brady
and pop star Roy Orbison

Trevor Francis in action for Nottingham Forest

Trevor Francis as he is today in
white T-shirt and blue shirt get up.

Trevor Francis and his wife of many years, Karen Brady.
With a ball.

Trevor Francis's Panini sticker

Trevor shares a joke after the London riots.

This is and always will be, my favourite picture of Trevor Francis.
It show him as kind and sensitive, but also shows his fun-loving side. 
A really nice photo.

A free Trevor Francis mask for you to cut out and wear at funerals.
With this one you can even pretend that you tongue is
Trevor Francis's tongue and stick it through the mouth bit. 
No one will ever know.

Please ignore all posts since my operation as I'm stir-crazy and have obviously got too much time on my hands.  I only came on the computer to have a look at my Dream Team standings in The Sun and look what happened!

"Utter shite" said Colin Key.


Monday, 15 August 2011

Post #138 have I really done that many posts?

Fuck me, I've really fucked up this time.  I'm absolutely gutted.  I can't believe it. 
I've just been to get my first tattoo, been really looking forward to it.  Went in and said to the bloke "I want a big dragon right across my back please" cos I'm always polite.  He said "Any particular one, any particular style?"  I said "Whatever you think mate, as long as it looks good.  Do a little bit of a design if you want".

Here's how it looks:

Fucking Theo Paphitis?

So now you know why I'm gutted, I'd rather have had Deborah Meaden!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha.  That was a good joke.

I'm bored. 
Can you tell?
Back driving in a couple of weeks so I'll be at Spurn and I'll have some birding related antics to tell you.

Even the cricket finished as early as your hat, cat, so I can't even watch that.  Do you know who I saw on TV at the cricket?  You'll never guess.  Amazing.  Couldn't believe it.

Trevor Francis!

Honestly Trevor Francis was at the cricket.  Trevor Francis!  I wonder what Trevor Francis was doing watching cricket, Trevor Francis played football.  I saw Trevor Francis at the cricket on the first day's play but never saw him on day two, so I just thought it was just a one-off for Trevor Francis to be at the cricket.  But then, on day three, who should turn up at the cricket again?  Fucking Trevor Francis!!!  What's going on?  Trevor Francis on day one and three but not on day two?  I couldn't for the life of me work out what was going on. 


Monday, 8 August 2011

Just for Jimmy and Darren Burnett...

I'm still recuperating but it's going well thanks for asking, alas I'm not allowed to drive for another three weeks.  Luckily not much has turned up recently close-by, the Little Blue Heron is, by common concensus, looking like it was a juv Little Egret, I'd seen Marsh Sand in Yorkshire before so the Blacktoft bird wasn't creating too many tears, but I may have travelled to see the Semi-P in Cleveland as it's my bogey bird and have twitched this fucking species on a least four million seperate occasions, the latest of which I ended up chinning a Greenshank here.  If you're bothered.  If you're not bothered just don't bother.

So, as usual, I haven't any birding tales to tell you as I can't get anywhere. I sit and gaze longingly at Surfbirds gallery and can only dream of being out at Spurn trying to find the next rarity and stringing a fly-by Atlantic Petrel. Instead I sit queitly and lonely, staving off malnutrition by eating only Pot Noodles and tinned Lidl's own Ravioli dressed in ill-fitting jogging bottoms, surgical stockings and a white T-shirt with Pot Noodle and Ravioli stains down the right hand side.  From my darkened room I can see green trees yet there is no children's laughter anymore as the school at the top of the hill is peaceful, almost desolate as it is the summer holidays. 

It seems trendy again in birdingblogland to chuck a tune in. 
Here we go.

As a lad I listened to an unfathomably diverse list of artists from (honestly) Maiden to Wet Wet Wet, Bad Company to Lou Reed and Metallica to The Stylistics!  What the fuck?  I suppose Maiden were the band of our youth with Jim, Darren Burnett and I seeing the band several times in the late eighties/early nineties.  But from being brilliant they released No Prayer for the Dying and became a bit shit.  Okay, maybe Tailgunner was okay, but what the fuck is Public Enema No 1 all about?  Running silent running deep, we are your final prayer warriors in secret sleep a merchantman's nightmare, sorry I'm not buying this.  As for Mother Russia what kind of epic is that?  Five and a half minutes?  Fuck off.  It shouldn't be even mentioned in the same breath as Mariner or can it lick the boots of something not exactly brilliant like Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, it's all so futile.  Then Metallica (and Diamond Head) started wailing:

My mother was a witch,
She was burned alive,
thankless little bitch
for the tears I cried.

What what what?  What the fuck am I listening to? I'm eighteen, have a unhealthy interest in girls and here I am blasting the above lyric out from a c90 tape on my stereo in my Capri Gear!  What are those girls over there going to think?  If they're not dressed in black with black and crazy purple eye shadow and stinking of petulia oil then they're not exactly going to come over and go for a spin round the block in my imaginary Capri Gear are they?  As for fingering, you've got no chance.

Rightly or wrongly, I split from the heavy scene and found my way into guitar based mainstream bands like Oasis, Ocean Colour Scene and the Stone Roses, not that it was a deliberate switch I suppose. 

I was going to carry on talking about my music background but nobody gives two fucks about it to be honest.  Even I'm bored so I'll stick to talking about Maiden even though I've said all along that I'm not going to talk about Maiden as it would be stepping on a fellow blogger's toes.  Anyway, these are the things that only a true Maiden fan can ever know.  Did you know the following pointless facts?:

Gangland should never have made it to the Beast album, Total Eclipse should've been included instead

Even Maiden founder, leader and bassist Harry admits the above.

West Ham will beat Arsenal 7-3 sometime in the future.

On the album Live After Death the sleeve gives to the lyrics to Revelations as 'a cleaver path for the fools who know' which is during the 'Just a babe in a black abyss' bit which is after the "excellent guitar bit" which made McKinneys Long Tailed Tit drop dead out of the tree.  Fuck AC/DC though, they're shit and sound like Quo.

Adrian sings lead vocal on only one Maiden song called Reach Out.  "It's over your head and you don't seem to undertstand".  To which Bruce seems a bit put out because he absolutely fucking belts out the backing vocals in the chorus as if to say "There, that's fucking singing Adrian, stick to fucking She's a Roller".

The Mekon lives in L.A.

On the live version of Remember Tomorrow which featured as a B-Side to Number of the Beast in 1982, you can just hear Brucey warming up right at the begining, he sings "Unchain Unchain the colours" really fast and low-pitched.  Interesting eh?  You bet your ass it's fucking interesting.

Rod Smallwood had a fiver bet with the organiser at The Marquee when Maiden first played there.  Rod said that Maiden would sell out, the organiser said that an unsigned band who had never played the Marquee before had NO chance of getting anywhere near selling out.  As the last ticket got sold there were still fans outside trying to get in...

Harry's first band was called Gypsy's Kiss which is cockerney facking rhymin slang innit.

Actually, Gypsy's Kiss were due to play the 'Metal Club' on the back cover of Somewhere in Time.

I actually built the Somewhere in Time Eddie during my art A level. I finished the head and torso then had a big fuck off steel frame built for the legs so it would be free standing but I ran out of time and the papier-machee (fuck you spell-check) started stinking in me Dad's garage so he took it to tip.

The frequent time changes in a lot of Maiden's songs are due to a lot of material being recorded during jamming.  The band jam and record the bits they like (that at this point are nothing to do with any song) and introduce them to a song when writing.  i.e. the really slow bit in Mariner could've actually ended up as a slow bit in Powerslave if they'd so wished.  When I found this out, it actually detracted something from the songs for me.  I'd had this preconception that they "wrote a song" and it was all meant to be and it was amazing how they'd written such riffs, lead-breaks and time changes for these songs.  Spoilt it a bit really.

I best leave it there.

Here we go...

Finally a tune...

Here's Depeche Mode!

Only joking.

What song then?  It really depends what mood you're in as the music is really quite diverse.  How about a floor filling crowd pleaser that they play at every gig like Run to the Hills or Beast?  Well, I think ultimately the seasoned Maiden gig-goer is "bored" of these kind of songs, if bored is the right word.  When we used to go we used to hope that these songs be omitted and they play some old school stuff that we'd never heard them play before like Prowler, Rue Morgue or Innocent Exile, y'know stuff like that.  What about stuff like that then?  What about brilliantly written later stuff like Infinite Dreams or 7th Son?  Fuck it, I could go on forever with this debate as to which song to 'play'.  Initially I was gonna give you a Rock Top Five today then in a few weeks a sort of Indie-Madchester stylee Top Five and so on, but it looks like I'm gonna have to, just for you Jimmy and Darren, give you a Maiden Top Five to give a true cross section of The Irons.

Pull up a chair, a bottle of Jack, have a lengthy toot on that bottle of poppers you were saving, put your denim cut-off on with Rainbow and Saxon patches on the back, sit back and and listen to this lot.  Here's a song, dur, called Driftaaaaa...wanna here you singing on this one, eh...

Maiden live at the Marquee in 1980 doing Drifter with Di'anno on vocals.
Must've been Dennis Stratton and Clive Burr in the line up too.
Two days after this gig Toyah headlined The Marquee.
And that's true that.
I think I'd have a go on Toyah.
Yeah, why not.
I bet it looks like last years hanging basket nowadays
I just can't she her keeping it tidy these days.
I bet it looks like Terry Waite's allotment.

Changeover period with Brucey now doing the "older" stuff.  Rue Morgue.
That's all I'm saying.
Apart from: I can't speak French so I couldn't explain and like a fool I started running away!

Revelations from Live after Death from the now infamous
Longbeach Arena in Southern Californiaaaaarrr!
I actually missed a great Maiden fact earlier. 
It was actually ME that shouts "Mother Fuckers" at the end of Revelations. 
And that's true that. 
Well, it might not be but I can tell you something about the "Mother Fuckers" incident though.
The album was recorded on a different night to the video release
yet they BOTH have the "Mother Fuckers" incident on!
One, or both, has been dubbed on!  Believe me, it's true.
This clip is from the video, you can tell it's a different recording to the
album yet it has the Mother Fucker incident at the end! 
Amazing factoids for you all today. 
What's that?  You're not bothered?  Well fucking Jimmy and Darren Burnett are so fuck you.

7th Son live from Maiden England.
Later masterpiece with fucking synthesisers!
A fan once said to Bruce: I want to play Heavy Metol with synthesisorrr!
And Bruce said No, you can't play Heavy Metal with a Synthesiser.
But they did in the end.
Bruce is still having a go here but not long afer this became disinterested and
started covering David Bowie numbers and his Maiden performances
started to suffer so Harry replaced him with Blaze Bayley and
everything after 7th Son is shite and Blaze should've stayed with Wolfsbane. 
And you have the audacity to call US fat bastards?  You fucking wankers!

And to finish in style....
It just had to be Harold.


Thursday, 4 August 2011

Happy Easter

Easter Sunday and a time to go to church and celebrate the death and resurrection then death again of our lord's son, Jesus Christ Holy Mary. Eat the bread, which represents Christ's body, drink the wine, which represents Christ's blood and sing holy hymns which reverberate up the spire of the church and send it up closer to God for him to hear.  Relegion?  Fuck me.

To FULLY understand EXACTLY what Jesus went through to save us, I decided to wear a crown of thorns for the weekend. And do you know what? It didn't really hurt that much. Unless you pressed it right down onto your head.

This post is going nowhere...

I've looked into the shipping lanes over the north Atlantic in hope that I was going to find something deep and meaningful about bird vagrancy.  I failed.  There's fucking milions of vessels cross every year (obviously) and they haven't changed the main shipping lanes for ages, nor will they due to geography, fuel prices and Right Whales.  I tell a lie, they actually have changed the shipping lanes for Right Whale protection but only by a few miles and it has proved successful!  Hurrah!  As for proving that most (if not all) transatlantic vagrants were/are ship assisted then I am no nearer.  No paper in British Birds yet then.
I will though.
Trust me.
Actually, I don't even write ANYTHING remotely educational about birds do I?  It's not that I don't know anything though, it's just that I prefer cock jokes and swearing any day!

It was my mate's funeral this week. He was always a practical joker, and fair play, he made us laugh right to the very end. The stupid fucker even had the coffin rigged up somehow so that when it was being lowered into the ground, a tape of him saying, "Ha! Fooled you... I'm alive!" started playing. It was followed by things like, "Lads... Really. I'm not dead, let me out!"  Then there was knocking coming from the coffin, fuck knows how he did it!.

We were all in stitches. Even the Vicar was pissing himself.
RIP Dave... Fucking legend.


Wednesday, 27 July 2011

'ip 'op

Dear Sir

After Nicola had totally fucked up the boxing (see previous post) the very next day was the men's Wimbledon Final.  Fine. I'm not a mad tennis fan but when it gets interesting I can watch it and when it's between two of the best in the world (Fed v Nadal, Fed v Djoko, or Nadal v Djoko) then I'm interested.  Andy Murray is some way behind these three.  Miles behind in fact, yet he's in front of 'the rest' I must admit.  4th in the world is definitely his place and his alone at the minute.  So there we are in the garden, kids in the paddling pool having a great time, Nicola and I sat lighting a BBQ and watching the juv Swifts amazing aerial displays with their close-harmony high speed chases with their parents and siblings, all savoured with a nice cold lager drink. Golf and tennis Sky-plussed because we're all outside and it's nice weather and that.  Only two things can be Sky-plussed at the same time.  Long story short.

Ruby wanting to have a rest for a bit.

Nicola takes her inside.

Ruby is bound to want to watch something on TV.

I say "if the tennis has finished, cancel that.  If not, cancel the golf"
Nicola sees that the tennis is finished.

Nicola presses the DELETE (yellow) button instead of cancelling it.

Tennis is deleted.

Nicola returns to the fresh outdoors.

Family fun continues and BBQ is success.

Olivia likes spicy chicken.

Lager drinks very nice.

Swifts now annoying and screeching has turned from beautiful bald baby swifts having a lark to harsh bastard ear splitting noise.

The sun goes down.

We return indoors and put tired baby bald children to bed.

Sky Planner is activated using green button.

Mark Quigley realises that the tennis no longer exists on said planner.

Mark Quigley starts digging another patio.

Spaceships start circling above our back garden as our garden has that many patios it is starting to resemble some sort of modern day Stonehenge.

The garden is now the only man made structure visible from space.

Noris Mcwhirter appears and confirms this.

All of you that think that the Great Wall of China is visible from space are very stupid.

Hey, so how y'all doing man?
Me?  Oh I'm fucking thanks man.
Apart from last week when an Asian man attacked me with a syringe, injected me with some form of sleeping liquid, whilst another Asian man attacked me with a scalpel, slashed me wide open the bastard, although it was good of him to quarterise the blood vessels as he went.  He then cut through muscle, dislocated my hip joint, ow, took a great big saw that resembled an oversized fucking hacksaw, lobbed a bit of bone off in anger then picked up a huge ball of steel with a huge horrible spike on the end and hammered sorry HAMMERED the fucker right the way into my raw femur sending blood and nerve endings everywhere.  He then relocated the ball into my open, bleeding pelvis socket, ow, and stitched me up like a kipper.  After this assault I wasn't amused.
"Why the fuck did you do that, you bastard?"
"You well veel bedder when you've gumroun vrom annazdedig mizder guiglee" said he and walked off into the sunset.
Right then, erm....thanks for that.

I've had a hip replacement.  It's going okay thanks for asking.
This is probably the strangest thing I've ever seen: CLICK HERE
An interactive play-along, be-the-surgeon hip replacement for you to enjoy at home!  There's some fucking strange stuff on the www I'll have you know.

For the last few Octobers there has been debate raging about the Scillies losing their cutting edge for rarities and as to why or even if this has happened.  I think I remember someone stating that there were only 4 official BB rarities one October a couple of year ago and that Shetland has now taken the mantle.  Observer numbers have dwindled but probably only because the birds have dwindled too.  I'm not going to go into this too much, reasons etc, but I picked up a few of my old magazines and came across this article from Richard Millington when he used to do his very good twitching/birding diary in Birdwatching magazine.

This is what he's highlighted from the Scillies from October 1987, obviously a good year...

Wood Thrush - first for Britain.....
Red-Eyed Vireo...
The usual Firecrests....
Rose-breasted Grosbeak...
Richard's Pipit....
Philadelphia Vireofirst for Britain!
Fuck off!

tristis Chiffchaff...
Marsh Warbler...
Scarlet Rosefinch...
Eye-Browed Thrush....
Swainson's Thrush....
Blackpoll Warbler.
Fuck off.

Our Rich must've just got steaming drunk on the 14th because he then goes onto:

Hermit Thrush - third for Britain
4 red rumps...
slowing down a bit.

Booted Warbler...
Radde's Warbler...
Melodious Warbler....
3 more red rumps...
Black Throated Thrush.

Something must've changed.  Surely?  Last year I think Raddes was about the best bird wasn't it?  Oh, Black Eared Wheatear as well wasn't there?  What's changed?  It can't be just observers can it?  Even if observer numbers are down drastically then at least one or two of the biggies listed above would still have been found and kept interest going in the archipaleagelgalo.  Weather?  No can't be.  Migration patterns?  Can't be, not in this relatively short space of time.  Shipping changes?  Now there's one.  Have shipping courses/routes/channels changed?  Now that would throw the cat amongst the pigeons.

See you on Shetland in October then.

Yours sincerely



Friday, 8 July 2011

Best build another patio...

Where have I been?  Let me tell you where I've been.
Yes, Ruckland.  84 fucking times.
This White-Tailed bastard Eaglet that's supposedly been at bastard Ruckland for an eternity has so far eluded me.  84 fucking times.  Another sad lonely man that was there said to this sad lonely man (yours truly) that he'd been there 3 times and not seen it.  3 times?  3?  Fuck all mate.  Wait til you get to 84 fucking times mate then come back. 

This post has started off very sweary hasn't it?  Very sweary indeed.

Last Saturday the lads was 'round at one of the lads houses for drinks, uppers, downers, all-arounders, curry, pizza and the boxing match twixt The Hayemaker and Dr Ironfisthammer.  Nicola was at one of her mates so I had the children until she came in and then I was off to the boxing.  
8:12 a text read:

Won't be long, see you in a bit x

Women always put a kiss on their texts.  Okay, I thought, I'll get to the fight easily, as they weren't scheduled to start whilst ten.  Half nine Nicola.  More texts.

Where the flying fuck are you?

(no kiss)

Won't be long x


9:45p.m.  Still no Nicola.  I best just book the fight at home.  We have no landline so couldn't book it through the remote. Tits.  Went online.....the site was down due to "high levels of traffic".  Tits.  Tried ringing them....all lines engaged.  Tits.  What the shall I do now?  Tits.  It's now gone ten and the fight is probably beginning. Tits.  I'm just gonna have to book it when the site calms down and watch it in morning.  Sorted.  No drinks with the lads but not to worry.  Tits.

12:10a.m.  Nicola finally wanders in and says "Haye got beat then..."

12:11a.m.  Nicola unconscious with a spade wrapped round her swede.

I of course don't advocate domestic violence of any kind. Saying that, the split arses want sexual equality don't they so what's wrong with a few stellas and a slap now and again? Same amount of prize money at Wimbledon and all that.  Well let them play 5-set matches all the way through the tournament then.  Same amount of money should equal same amount of games.  Not that I'm bothered. I'm not sexist either and to prove it I even watched a bit of the womens world cup.  I watched England and to be honest I don't think they can win it with the players they've got. Oh well, back to the chopping board.

Western Bonelli's near Manc land is tempting to solve the mid-summer night blues.


Saturday, 11 June 2011

Deep joy as someone I don't know dies.

After no work for a few weeks the working god smiled upon me and issued several weeks work, alas out of town at a place called.....wait for it.....Dewsbury.  Starting Monday.  Alas, Monday of course was to be the day when the birding god decided to pull the rug from under my eyes and plonk a White Throated Robin on the green and pleasant lands of Hartlepool.
I worked all the day and returned at stupid o'clock, the kind of stupid o'clock that prevents you from travelling to Hartlepool before nightfall.
This was to be the hour when the birding god got yarning to the death god and the death god decided to act and a person who the death god had acted upon several days previous was to be buried the following morn.  How does this affect me?  Well, the guy who I was working with, well his missus was attending said funeral to pay her respects to the fallen angel, hence he had to look after children in her absence which led to Tuesday being declared a day off for everyone!  Hoorah!  I could now go to Hartlepool.
In summary, person dies, person (deceased) about to be buried, other person (living) pays ones' respects, person (other)(also living) cares for children, me (living) travels to Hartepool (deceased), watches Robin (living) strut its' stuff in/on Doctors garden.
Oh the timeless wonder of fate.  To bring fate in a full circle, what about if the Doctor had seen the deceased earlier and saved him from becoming deceased thus rendering the day off invalid as no funeral would be occurring on this day, hence no travelling to Hartlepool?

Everytime I saw a sign for Hartlepool, I said "Hartlepool" like the bra men (click here) to myself.  Out loud.  Alone.  In the car.
On arrival, I wasn't entirely sure of the location and was pretty sure I'd see a birder pretty quickly.  I spotted a scope.  I spun it 'round and parked up. 
"Where's the Robin, pal?"
"Just go in here" said my brand new pal as he pointed to a green door.  Absolutely Icebox!

Do you know what I did?  Go on, guess.  I'll tell you. I went straight through that green door and left the cold, grey, lifeless streets of dank Hartlepool and entered a beautiful, technicolour, brave new world of blossoming flowers, green green grass, beautiful vagrant Robins, Turkish Delight and young Fawns.

The Robin was the first mainland record for Britain after records from the Isle of Man and Skokholm island.  This species is being recorded more frequently away from it's sketchy breeding grounds from Turkey to the western Himalayas.
After the first Western Palearctic records away from breeding grounds when two males were found in June and July 1971 in Sweden, there was a distinct run of records in northern Europe including three from Norway and a further seven from Sweden before 1990.

Interesting, eh?  There has also been a recent run of around five records from Holland, five from the Netherlands and five from the Hague.
On the road, I saw this sign:
What does that fucking mean?  "Gap" "Closed" "Ahead"?  If it's "closed", it's not a "gap" is it?  So, by definition, if it's not a gap, what's the point in telling us it's closed?  There's no gap!  It might as well say "No gap ahead" in which case it is a pointless sign.  Absolutely No Gap Coming Up.  No Gap.  It might as well say "Carry Straight On", well, thanks I was going to anyway.  Or it could just say "Road Continues Ahead", thanks for letting me know.
What about:
That's a great sign.  What the fuck am I talking about?
Well, thanks go out to several people who I have never met before, firstly the Doctor for letting me in his garden, the deceased for dying at a very convenient time, and the family of the deceased for organising the funeral at such short notice.  Then I wondered.  Has a funeral ever been arranged NOT at short notice? I suppose one has at some time or other.

So there you have it, death, mortality, and mega Robins, dealt with in an unbelievably blase manner.

The great Colin Key once reviewed my blog and described it as thus:

"It IS utter's like the Viz"

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.  Thanks Col.  I honestly pissed myself laughing when he said it was "utter shit".  I thought it was a great description.  And Shakey once played for Fulchester United.  Did you know that?  Colin's blog is here for comparison, although he uses his Internet super alter-ego "John Russell" as he's quite modest and doesn't like the plaudits.

On blogger dashboard it gives you your stats including number of hits in a day, traffic sources and most popular posts of the day.  Today's most popular post is Very important post but why have so many people decided to click on that?  Honestly, why?  I mean, that was from 9th June 2009.  It's strange this Internet lark, you just never know.

I sometimes end with a joke for you all. It makes you leave with a false sense that this site is actually fun and makes you laugh.

Here goes:

Muslim women have set up a new social networking site.  It's called "Book".
Not bad. 

Can I say that? 


Monday, 30 May 2011

Diary of a Twig.

Due to the new found fame of the Bolton Abbey twig, it's schedule has changed drastically with public appearances filling its diary instead of being shat on by ultra rare Buntings.
Q@Spurn takes a look at where the Twig has been found since becoming an overnight celebrity:

Movie Premieres with top gash


Topical News Shows with former Arsenal footballer Paul Merson

Taken from this week's guest publication "Twigs and You"

...and hospital visits.

The drunker I get, the more immature a become.
Which I suppose is a common trait.


Saturday, 28 May 2011

Football Post

Come on Messi and co.

For the sake of football, come on Barca.  If the Mancs bastards win tonight it will be a travesty.  Barca, even Man U fans will tell you, are the best team and play the best football in the world.  By a fucking mile. They're the best team I've ever seen, better than the Milan sides of the late 80s/early 90s which included Rossi, Baresi, Maldini, Costacurta, Dessailly, Gullit, van Basten, Riiiijjkjjaaaard, Donadoni, Kenny Dalglish and Ian Ormandroyd. 

Even better than the Liverpool sides of the 70s/80s with Kenny, Souness, Whelan, Nicol, Brucey, Terry Mcdermot super sub David Fairclough, and beanpole striker Kevin Francis.

By the way, watch the midfield interplay of Barca.  It's amazing. Just watch Xavi, Iniesta, and Busquets (underated), and the way they switch positions.  If they've got the ball it's generally Busquets that sits in letting the other two go. That's quite simple football.  It's when they haven't got the ball that's interesting.  Whoever picks a runner, whoever goes to win the ball, whoever picks up Rooney when he drops deep tonight, the others cover what is required.  They switch round, whoever's nearest goes and the other two drop, mark or cover.  Watch Rooney tonight, he will be dropping deep tonight, 1) to help the midfield when they haven't got the ball, and 2) to get into the game when they do have the ball.  Watch who picks him up.  It'll be one of the three but at some point ALL of them will pick him up.  It reminds me a little of Chelsea's organisation when they first came to the KC.  As soon as they lost the ball you could look and see a perfect 4-4-2 in an instant.  Joe Cole was on the left but made a run and finished on the right, Chelsea lost the ball and you'd have thought they'd have an imbalance.  No chance, 4-4-2 immediately!  Cole dropped in right, someone shuffled left, lampard dropped in...pretty awesome to watch which is what tonight should be but I feel Ferguson will adopt a defensive method tonight.  His Man United arrogance keeps telling us that "This club doesn't know how to defend, we attack".  I hope they do attack, Barca will murder them if they play them at their own game.  Ferguson will have noted Mourihno's approach in all of the Classico's this season, from the 5-0 drubbing (what a game) to the 0-1 AET Copa del Ray final.

It could be a dull (ish) first half.  (0-0 at half time 7/4 anyone?) 

And Victor Chandler are offering to refund bets if Rooney or a certain Mr Lionel Messi score at any time tonight which is a steal to any of you gambling men.

Got a bit carried away on football there.

Erm.....12 Goldfinch south, a fucking Smew, 14 White-fronts and a horses big black bouncing cock.  That was just to carry on the theme of my blog and keep you all happy.

THE great Liverpool side of the 80s including
Terry McDermott (second row, 3rd right)


Wednesday, 25 May 2011

I knew I had something to tell you....

...or nothing as the case may be.

Just a polite notice to everyone who e-mailed me asking for Ollie's number:

No, he doesn't always dress like that and no, you can't meet him privately.  And particularly to "therapist" via Private Message on Birdforum:  I really don't think he does that sort of thing, but yes, his Norks are nice.  Also, I think you've missed a space out of your username, I think there should be a space after the "e" but thanks for getting in touch.

So what did I have to tell you?
Well, I went vis-migging and chose probably the quietest day at Spurn for a while. I was "expecting" a Red-Rumped Swallow or a Monty's at some point which shows just how Spurn has been this Spring.  Expect a Red-Rump?  Expect a Monty's?  You almost come away disappointed this year if you don't see at least one of these or something rarer like Bee-eater, Black Kite, Purple Heron......etc. 

As I say, today was relatively quiet with Swallows at a trickle.  Still, I'd missed a Serin by an hour and then decided to go check Sammy's as nearly all birders on site where vis-migging at the top of Clubley's (rightly so, even during a "quiet" day, they sit/stand all day and always pull something decent - rewards for the dedication I suppose, just look at the quality and quantity HERE).  I popped into Easington shop for a sarnie and bumped into Garry.  Then on reading his account for the day it must've been just as I left the shop his radio went off and he shot off to catch up with a Monty's at the narrows!  Big Brown Balls.  The Monty's had totally bypassed me as I got to Sammy's.  Still, at Sammy's there was MASSIVE recompense with a Cuckoo, 2 Yellow Wags, 3 Wheatears and some horses.  One horse had it's horse cock out and it obviously knew it.  When I say it looked at me funny, it really did, and honestly it was a proper funny look.  It was quite unnerving really, it was stood about 7 feet away, fence between us mind, but it stared at me and followed me with his eyes as I went past.  It KNEW it had it's big black horse cock out and it was as if it was looking for some sort of reaction from me.  I kid you not.  I've decided horses are fucking bombed out when they've got their cocks out and will have nothing to do with them in this state in the future.

Hoss Cock

Vis-migging totals:
352 Swallows
32 House Martin
1 Marsh Harrier (north)
3 Alba Wags (north)
1 Turnstone
some other stuff,
no Monty's
no horse
4 Losing interest with this
12 Better end it (north)
74 Getting silly now
1 Tawny Pipit a few days later on Lagoons which showed quite nicely considering the HOWLING wind and a probable Water Pipit which looked just like a Water Pipit except that I couldn't see it's head for some dense grass.

Water Pipette

Betwixt the lack of Monty's and the Tawny was a lack of Black Stork.  I had an airport run (Heathrow) so popped just a couple of miles off the M1 on the way back and didn't see the Black Stork that had been around for a few days.  Then I came home to see this on the TV:

BBC News: Bad drivers to face £100 fines

Seems a bit sexist.
Then I sat down and started checking last nights lottery.
"If you win the lottery, the first thing I want you to get me is a face lift and a boob job" said my 49 year old girlfriend as I was checking it.

"Fuck that, the first thing I'm gonna get is a reconditioned engine and a respray for my Mondeo" I replied.

"Why would you waste your money tarting that old thing up, you might as well get yourself a new one" she said.

"My point exactly."


Sunday, 22 May 2011

Genuine Guest Entry.

I've got birding tales to tell you, honestly, tales of no Black Storks, no Red Rump Swallows and definately no Montagu's Harrier.  But that's as maybe.  But as for today...hang on I've just started two sentences with conjunctions.  Is this okay?  To be honest I'm not particularly bothered.  The Bible is full of them.
"And Jesus bestowed onto Moses the artful deed and asked him to come forth.  Let them praise his name in the dance: let them sing praises unto him with the timbrel and the harp. And Moses paid Magdalene 15 Guineas for the sordid deed" Matthew 25:17

I digress (trans: talk shite).

But as for today we have a proper bona fide guest entry!  Perhaps the previous guest entries from LEE and DAVE THE LORRY DRIVER weren't exactly genuine (really?) but today's is.  Honestly!  Why do you not believe me? 

Today's post is from Glenn Howard "Ollie" Oliver, 40, from Hessle.  Ollie tells us all about his day at Flamborororough.  Ollie looks like this:

This is nothing to do with his stag night at all.

Take it away Duice:

So, that was that then.

After a while of pondering 'what's that twitching lark all about?' and being asked by MQ to do a guest blog quite some time ago, I decided to take the tribe up to Flamborough with a telescope to look for some birds, maybe me and the little one can catch sight of Guillemot, Puffin, Fulmar, Kittiwake or Oystercatchers. I ripped that off the RSPB information board.

As it happens we didnt see anything of the sort. Only gulls making a racket and shitting everywhere, namely on my car. Bastard gulls. Telescopes aren't very good for catching sight of fast flying birds. We did see some dead blokes ashes plopped in a big mound overlooking the North Sea though, I know it was a bloke because it had some flags in it saying grandad and uncle. Also saw some gull corpses, some sheep and I think a low flying Cormorant, are they big black things with a long neck that fly quite low over the sea?

Needless to say I was underwelmed with this ornithology stuff and so was the little one, but she loved the ice cream and i bought some fresh crab and crayfish tails, so not a wasted journey then.

Something I did notice, you'll never be stuck for a seat at Flamborough, must be a garden furniture dumping ground nearby....


p.s. I did see the bird thats shown in the photo at work if thats any good, does that make me a twitcher now? I think it had a red bill.

It's a bastard Goldfinch Ol.

Well, thanks to Ollie there.  I liked the bit about never being stuck for a seat.  There are about 48 benches situated "in loving memory of" people who "loved the view from here".  We pondered this together in the Granby.  Before they all died and had a bench placed in memoriam of them, they all must have had to stand up and admire the view.  There used to be loads of them just stood there, in random places keeping themselves to themselves looking out to sea in the bracing sea air.  Gradually, the people were replaced with benches with small, gold plaques on them. 

In Loving Memory of
George Albert Spim
He loved the view from here.


Note addition of tights (his idea) and Cardigan.