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