Saturday, 8 December 2012

I should stop blogging. I'm not even sure I should publish this. But hey.

Oh lordy.  You know during Waxwing invasions when you're driving along and see a few Starlings wheeling around and you "check" that they're not Waxwings?  You watch them for a bit and decide they are just Starlings whilst careering off the road and breaking the leg of an elderly couple (just one leg of the couple, i.e. 1 in 4, sorry about that Enid).   Anyway, when you finally connect with some Waxwings you know straight away that they're NOT Starlings,  Sort of bigger, sort of longer-winged sort of, they're similar but jizz rules doesn't it?  And for all homosexual readers who simply LOVED that last sentence: 

Erm.....I didn't mean that sort.... big poofs!


I had 15 (Homosexuals, not Waxwings) over a building site down near Watford.  They flew over, calling, and continued SW and landed in a bush laden with berries.  Piles must be a problem amongst homosexuals. 
The first thing I heard when I parked the van up on the cockerney site was this:
"Don't take the lorry darn there, you won't geddit darn the mugga"

The mugga?  All day I thought of the convoluted way that the cockerneys had derived "mugga" to mean "road".  I was at a loss.  I still am, and I've even yahoo'ed it (fuck you and your taxes Google).  It's dialect-based terms like this that confuse the masses and exactly why every Chinese person who has ever got into a taxi has always ended up in Harrow. 

But anyway, have a look at this amazing graphical summing up of years of research about the evolution of all genus in the bird world.  Jimmy the Jew, a gangster I know, used to train and research at Sheffield Uni and Sheffield Uni is where this research has been done it at Sheffield Uni and they've done it and sorted.  The previous was my greatest EVER sentence.

Anyway, have a look:

CLICK here you maggot farmers 

Hey, that's my fuckin Grifter you fuckin fuck,
I'm Jimmy the fukin Jew


Wednesday, 14 November 2012

Comments enabled.....hmmm....

Several of my readers have told me they have trouble adding comments.  So I've changed some settings so it should be okay now.  It leaves me open to anonymous comments calling me a wanker and the like, but I've got a thick skin, I can take it.  So if you want to add a comment saying "Fuck you Quigs, you twat" then I'm alright with it.  But if you take it a little too  far, I will make it my life's work to find you through your IP address, track you down and tell No Neck Ted off Benedict to pay you a visit.  Some say his dad's German.  Anyway if you've got to post a comment anonymously, just put who in god's name you are within the post.  Piss easy.

I was near Benedict the other day as I was visiting all the very local sites that have ever held Waxwings.  I could've popped a mile or two down the road and seen the flocks at Asda and St Stephens but that's just not what I wanted to do.  So there.  I was rewarded with a flyover flock of c.10 SW over First Lane, not quite heading to join the flock at Sainsbury's but I presumed they'd end up there, then, not so local at all, I had another 5 going south from the car over South Ferriby on the way back from a Long Billed Dow that's been at Alkborough Flats for fourteen years.

Whoever took this photo, can I borrow it to put on my blog? 
Thanks in anticipation. 
 If you think it may be yours, just contact me and I will gladly
delete it and add someone elses stolen from Google images. 



Friday, 9 November 2012

Ollie, Jimmy, Dennis, Val, Jimmy

Good evensong.  Upside-down Ollie is back upside down again after becoming the right way up for a couple of weeks.  Let me tell you something about upside-down Ollie, he is a right proper bastard.


"Why is upside-down Ollie a right proper bastard?" I hear my beloved readers cry.
Well, he is a right proper bastard because he has tickets to see The Stone Roses in his new home town of Perth on March the bastard 3rd next year.  So now do you see why he is right proper bastard?  I knew you'd agree.  Right now I'm engulfed with green envy which will ease, then ease some more until March the bastard 3rd starts to emerge on the horizon when I will build to a crescendo on March the bastard 3rd when I will just wear a flower pot top pop mop top pop pot shot flops stylee hat and listen to the Roses all day drinking strong cider to appease my longing.  After, I will be awaiting upside-down Ollie's report with baited breath.  Magic, it'll be magic.

I care not though, as by then I will have tickets myself to one of next year's British gigs, and I also care not as last week I went to see Wolfsbane.  So there.  Sit on that.

"I pour my brain into a can and beer swamps my mind
Turning me from a man into something less defined
An open wound with raw emotions bleeding forth
The night becomes a swamp as the brew takes its course
- Dennis Thatcher c.1989

James "Jimmy" James and I went to the pub first.  Then to another pub.  Then more pubs until we found ourselves in the Sheffield area of the country.  We looked for the right site and looked carefully until we found one of several poisonous perennial herbs of the genus Aconitum, especially A. lycoctonum, native to northern Europe, having broad rounded leaves, elongate racemes, and light purple flowers......... 

How can something so beautiful be such poison?
Barren yet fertile?
Placid yet dangerous?
Beautiful yet bollocks.....

................No, not that kind of Wolfsbane you fucking nonces!  This Wolfsbane:

Totally rock 'n' roll.  See how Jeff is OUTSIDE
yet still wearing shorts and Jase needs to ABSOLUTELY put his jacket on. 
If that's not rock, I don't know what is!


So, after standing there in the Corporation in Sheffield with stinking middle aged, balding, fat, ugly, drunken men, the rest of the crowd said let's move over there away from these two and watch Wolfsbane!  That was a good joke, wasn't it.  They're pretty good but time is not on their side, alas.
During "Manhunt" a basic MAN came on the stage with a basic WOLF'S MASK on and sort of growled at the crowd!  It was all a bit early eighties, trying to evoke an Eddie-type mascot, though I'm sure it was meant tongue-in-cheek.
I think the actual clip of that is on Youtube.

So there.

Strangely, I was looking at my lists (which I don't often do) and realised looking through it that I've dipped a fair few things.  I even totted up the "dip list" i.e. things not on the list that I've gone for in some way and not seen.  Some proper bastards like Double Crested Cormorant (how did I miss that, it stayed for 18 years), Long Toed Stint, Blue Cheeked Bee Eater ( the Cowden bird still REALLY sticks in the throat), Slate Coloured Junco, then some proper Yorkshire bastards like Red Eyed Vireo, and some proper Spurn bastards like Least Sand.  The dip list totalled 39!  I think I remember reading Garry Bagnells dip list and I think my 39 outweighs his no end, so list-for-list, 39 is pretty massive in comparison.  This means that I:

a)  don't "go" for things as quick as I should
b)  don't spend enough time at said quarry, and
c)  have a big, brown cock.

Ergo, Man U are disgusting, cheating, lucky bastards who stink of piss.

This is the end, my only friend, the end.  To quote Ice Man out of Top Gun.

Who in the name of Jimmy Savile's shiny ballsack
still has a hatstand in the foyer?  Or vestibule?
I'll tell you, the clinically insane that's who.


Tuesday, 23 October 2012

Another pointless post, losing the will to blog/live

Blogger, my blog host, gives me insights into the hits I recieve, info such as which countries people have visited from, what time of day is most popular, even things like which operating system is most popular, it even gives a pie chart of the various operating systems!  Like who in the name of Satan would want to know that?  Another snippet of useless information it offers is what phrases have people googled to arrive at this poorly written shite very informative weblog of the highest order.  This I look at sometimes as it often throws up some crazy insights into the minds of the googling working class.  Today's offerings:

abu hamza key holder
"spurn trying"
co workers suck eachother off
now then now then glad he's not alive
i cant feel my legs pig
mince lion for sale.

Mince Lion for sale?  I'm gonna google that......yep, I come up second one down on google.  Hmmm.  This perhaps offers more of an insight into the poor quality subject matter on here than the minds of the proletariat.

I promise I will try to improve.

Chestnut Eared Bunting?  Holy jesus christ mamma. 

There's a voice that keeps on calling me,
down the road, that's where I'll always be.
And every step I take, I'll make a new friend,
Can't stay for long just ture around and I'm gone again.

Honest, I will tell you about interesting things one day.  Even a report from Spurn, which is meant to be the whole point of this. 


Saturday, 20 October 2012

Wolfsbane tomorrow

Good evening.  Spurn was, how do I say this, a bit shit.  October.  Mid October.  I even went on my birthday (15th) to extract birthday treats.  And thanks for all the happy birthday goodwill messages.  Birthday treats included 2 Chiffs along Westfield Lane (I did Easington for most of that day), 2 Jays in the same area which in any other year would be pretty mega for the Spurn area.  Without checking, I reckon Spurn's had more.....erm....Radde's than Jays.  I think that's about right.  Then 3 Redpoll sp. dropped straight into Sammy's from on-high.  Chances.  They were flighty and I never nailed the bastards. 

Rio Ferdinand - what a wanker.  I hate that racist.
L***s - typical showing.
Hull City - back where we belong, the top team in Yorkshire
Sheffield tomorrow - the mighty Wolfsbane playing live.


That's it, I'm pisses.

That was meant to say I'm pissed, but "I'm pisses" sound infinitely better.
I'm pisses.

....In another another universe....
...tonight.....all hell is breaking loose.....

Might see you there you slags


Friday, 12 October 2012

Jimmy Savile Owed the Tax Man

Rattle rattle jewellery jewellery say everything twice say everything twice.

Jimmy Savile.  Who'd have thought it eh? 

Well.....I would actually.

I once saw Jimmy Savile on a twitch.  I'd twitched Pied Wheat AND Woodchat Shrike from Leeds to Scarborough on train back in my University days.  I dipped both, but on the sea front whilst searching, Jimmy Savile came jogging by!  At the time, I used to do exaggerated impressions of Jimmy Spitting Image style, much to the chagrin (or amusement) of Jim, of Research Dept fame.  Jimmy jogged past, training for his next marathon and said "hello" to me and fingered an innocent girl who just 'appened to be in his way.

I like grammar and it's effects.  Look at this sentence:

Jimmy Savile - pervert.

Change the grammar:
Jimmy's a vile pervert.

Coincidence?  I think not.  Susan Boyle has leapt to the defence of Savile, saying she was on his show when she was 15 and he definitely didn't touch her.
The BBC News channel just displayed images of the three women who claimed that Jimmy Savile interfered with them sexually. They showed a current picture of each of the women and a picture taken of each of them from the 1970s.
The caption read: Now, then. Now, then. Now, then.
Jimmy Savile's family have had the gravestone removed along with all the flowers as a mark of respect. It just leaves a small hole and no bush around it.
Just what he would have wanted.
But he's dead.  I'm glad he's dead.  There.  I'm not sure if I've ever said that sentence before.  Actually, I'm not glad he's dead.  I wish he was still alive so he could face the charges, face the public, and face the victims.  When I saw the lucky bastard sick pervert who got away with banging school girls on Scarborough front, he was wearing the most garish shell suit imaginable.  When he died Primark brought out a shell suit in his honour.  The top was a normal, adult sized shell suit top but you had to really try and squeeze into the kid's bottoms. 

They've just found his diary, his last entry was about 13 years old.

Allegedly: BBC cover up, Savile supplied boys to Ted Heath from "the" Jersey children's home, yes, that Ted Heath, John Peel, Fluff Freeman's kinky parties, children supplied by Savile plied with drugs and alcohol, Jonathon King present, Savile denied ever visiting the children's home on Jersey - there are pictures of him there, Heath regularly took boys on his yacht for the weekend, "Mr Eddy" is a well known term in and around Hampstead and the children's home nearby, Esther Rantzen (matriarch of child line) allegedly knew about Savile, hypocritical nazi, but worst of all, Savile had a tax debt when he died.  How could he do such a thing?.....etc, etc....

All I know is that a LOT of people must've known about Savile.  Mainly BBC orientated people.  Heads should fucking roll.
Enquiries need to begin.
Heads should roll.
Simple as that.

Say everything twice, say everything twice.

Spurn in morning you slags......

p.s. R.I.P. Jase and Kev.


Sunday, 30 September 2012


A few days ago a MAGNOLIA WARBLER was found on the mega island that is Fair Isle.  2nd for Britain.  First one since 1982, some thirty years ago!  Hell's teeth!  Hell's teeth indeed.  If one was found at, say Spurn I would suggest that the message would go something like this:

!!!  Magnolia Warbler           East Yorks                               Kilnsea

                                              1st winter in Churchyard today.  Do not park at the Crown
                                              and Anchor, parking is being arranged in the church field
                                              please follow on-site instructions.  A donations bucket will
                                              be in place.

Something like that.  Or if one was found, say on Orkney the message would, perhaps go something like this: 

!!! Magnolia Warbler            Orkney                                     Kirkwall, Mainland

                                              1st winter showing well along McDonalds Road.  Extra boats
                                              are being chartered from Scotland for the morning.  Please
                                              sample local whisky.  Park in the Grouse Fucker public house
                                              and walk down towards Ian's Taxis.  Bird is in willows at the
                                              back of the office.

When one was found on Fair Isle, MEGA, 2nd for Britain, first since '82, much sought after dendroica (sic) yank passeriniforme, do you know what it said?  Go on....

one this evening

One this evening?!!  Are you having a laugh Fair Isle?  How cool is Fair Isle?  It just shrugs it's huge geo-setter based shoulders and says "one this evening".  Fair Isle is the coolest of all the islands in the world.  Far cooler than Jim Rockford out the Rockford Files.  Even cooler than Nelander when Jules tells her we're all gonna be like little Fonzies, and what's Fonzy like? 
Correctamundo, we're all gonna be cool.     
Fair Isle - cool reporting.  Or is it just a little arrogant?  Maybe.  I tend to think it's just cool.

If this is your photo...........I am not bothered.

Anyway, went to Spurn.  Small child was asleep as we arrived but woke up the very second I parked up.  I just couldn't get out of taking her with me and it's a nightmare trying to pin down some flitting Phyllosc amongst the sueda when she's around me neck poking my bins that I'm already holding one handed cos I'm holding her just so she won't run off and start making massive noises which would be much to the disdain of the assembled throng. 

A flying visit bagged zero Rose Coloured Starlings which I spent time searching for at the gas terminal, a Red Breasted Fly and as I pulled up to the Riverside where a Barred had been seen.  "Imagine my surprise" when I joined the assembly (whom I presumed were watching the Barred) when the first thing I clapped eyeballs on was a wing-barred Phylloscopus!  "Hell's teeth" I exclaimed, then realised that this was what they were really watching.  Still unconfirmed, I tried to get clinching views with Livs peering down the other end of my bins saying "Hello Dad" and laughing her head off because I couldn't see a thing.  It was a Greenish.



Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Well, I've seen some things in my thyme

Did you see the back pages on Monday morning?  That's right a big, beaming picture of Van Persie "after scoring the glorious winner against Liverpool, the team that Manchester United have toppled as the most successful club in the country".  Fuck off.  I didn't even know the new horse-faced dutch man in town was on the pitch!  Man U were outplayed by a pretty poor Liverpool outfit.  It's the same every week:

Man U outplayed in first half.
Man U can't string two passes together.
Ref makes a shocking decision in Man U's favour.
Changes the game.
Man U still struggle.
Ref makes another decision in Man U's favour.
Man U score late on to win the game.
Tabloids print huge back page of whoever scored the winner.
Tabloids suck Man U off.
Man U fans believe the hype.
The unknowing public believe it.
Man U fans suck each other off.
Essex is awash with back-slapping coworkers.
Essex coworkers suck each other off.
Boss (who knows nothing about football) sees coworkers sucking each other off.
Boss reads tabloids.
Boss believes that Man U have the best team.
Boss forgives coworkers sucking each other off in office time.
Boss organises team building day out at Old Trafford.
Boss buys Man U fucking shirt.
Fulham have 3 sent off in first ten minutes of teambuilding exercise.
Ref awards 8 dodgy penalties.
Man U win in stoppage time against a poor Fulham side.
Tabloids issue pull out poster special of van Horse Face II who scored the spectacular winner from the spot against a magnificent Fulham side.
Essex believes the hype.
Essex coworkers indulge in some more back slapping and lure another coworker into the hype.
New Essex coworker buys poster special edition of van Horse II.
New Essex coworker buys Man U shirt.
Man U get richer on the back of shameless favouritism from a) the media b) the FA c) the referrees.
Mr M. Quigley recieves banning order and 12 months suspended for ripping a plastic Manc "fan"s leg off.

ad finitum



Same every week. 
Even you Mancs out there reading this must realise Sunday was just a typical day for Man U. 
You're shit.  But you still got 3 points. 
Mark (above) shows why this is.

Some people say I take things too far.  Some say I don't. 
Some say I went to saw a Fudge Duck the other day in Barton. 
I found a Fudge Duck once.  I was only 14 or summat.
East Park, Hull. 
Yorkshire listers owe me for that one. 


Wednesday, 19 September 2012

L***s 2 Hull City 3.

I hate titles of posts, as you've probably noticed recently.  Most people use crazy puns "Rainham-azing Crake" others facts like "09-11-12 Baillon's Crake at Rainham" which is fine.  Totally fine.  I have no problem with either it's just that I hate having to come up with a title without fear of sounding lame, serious, naff or something else.  So today's offering was a simple one.  Hull beat the white shite comfortably, more comfortably then the scoreline suggests.  This is no great thing around here as we've been used to being the top team in Yorkshire for some time now, apart from when L***s went above us on goal difference briefly a couple of weeks ago before we rectified it.

Colin Wanker

Whata wanker.

They don't do themselves any favours do they?  They are the second most hated CLUB in the country (behind Man U obviously) they have probably the most hated CHAIRMAN* in the country, who appoints the most hated MANAGER in the country who signs the most hated PLAYER in the country!  I mean come on, you couldn't make it up, even the L***s supporters that read this drivel know I'm right.

* Not by us of course.  Indeed Hull City fans sung a chorus of "There's only one Ken Bates" at last night's game!

8th September 2012.

L***s fan, Mr J. Secret and I, travelled the 14 million miles down to Lodmoor in Dorset.  We set off at around 5 in the a.m. and arrived at the wrong RSPB reserve in Weymouth just under three weeks later.  We relocated to the correct RSPB reserve to find a strange man in strange attire looking through a telescope. 
"Are you on it?" I enquired politely.
"Yes" said the strange man.

I had a quick scan of the scrape and scoped a wader.  With a long beak.  And that.  It was a Blackwit.  Mr J. Secret agreed of course.  Was this strange man in strange attire really watching a Blackwit and thinking it was our quarry?  Have we travelled 18 million miles to watch a starnge man in strange attire watch a Blackwit?  No, we hadn't.

"It's over there" said the strange man in strange shoes and strange coat.
"Oh.  Right.  Erm.....cheers" said we and scoped the juvenile Short Billed Dowitcher which was showing really well.   It looked good apart from a quite long, droop-tipped bill and solid centres to the scapulars.  After a little research it seems the upper scaps can appear solid-centred, the lower ones having more of the tiger** pattern associated with juv SBDs.  After looking at some photos the lower scaps do indeed look fine for Short Billed which wasn't so obvious in the field. That's enough of writing about proper parts of birds with proper names and everthing as I know little about bird identification and Killian Malarkey has said it is one and so has everyone else so that means it IS one and only the second record of the species on British soil following the Scottish bird from 97.  Maybe it was 99.
We left the strange man in strange coat, strange shoes and strange hat to find lots more strange men in strange hats and strange coats watching the bird from a closer viewpoint.  It was here I met my new mate.  He latched onto me immediately and guided me through the entirity of his train journey from Bristol.  Four hours later and a new found depth of knowledge of the South West rail network, we left and headed for Portland Bill.  We had a terrific seawatch in the hope of some Balearics with the highlights being:

1 Gannet (which Secret picked up going west)
2 Really strange things which were sort of swimming but never broke the surface.  We offered up answers as to what they were which ranged from Ocean Sunfish to Lobster pots!  As you can see we were a bit stumped.
4 Cormorant (west)
1 Pigdog
and Tripitaka out of Monkey (west)

That was it. 
We pressed on and went hunting migrants with 5+ Wheatear and a Little Owl being the only things we saw.  Apart from a Buzzard.

**this is not meant as a reference to "The Tigers" who won at (B) Ellend Road last night.

Pigs smell, Monkeys don't

We drove home, with the return journey taking what seemed much longer than the journey down there, almost certainly due to me still being completely drunk from the night before.


Tuesday, 4 September 2012

Jewish Settler Agrees Deal to Sell Bacon From His Mother's Lonely Pinish.

There is no such thing as a Pinish.

As you know I don't really tell you about shite days, but today was, I suppose, a shite day but I enjoyed it!  After the summer doldrums I really convinced myself that a Bar-wit (east off Sammy's) and a Greenshank (west, off Sammy's) a Guillemot sat on the sea (off narrows), a Stonechat and a Whinchat together (Warren) and 3 Med Gulls (adults off Sammy's car park) were genuine proper good birds.  And do you know what?  They were. 

I liked it.

Birding is all about...erm....birding and how you feel. 
Nice day.
Enjoyed it.
At times.  The Point was dead.  Proper dead.

Now there's a bird-related post to appease you all.

Best finish with a joke.

A classic joke.

The best.

Although I may/may not agree with it's content:

Statistically, 9 out of 10 people enjoy gang rape.


Sunday, 2 September 2012

No Neck Ted off Benedict

Good evening. How are you all?  Me?  Oh, I'm good thanks.  Thanks for asking though.
Drove past Benedict Road today, on the way to Sainsbury's to get the security tag removed from Olivia's new coat which we stole yesterday.  No sign of No Neck Ted though.  He was maybe on the graveyard shift at Bird's Eye. 

I'll let Verbal Kint take over from here:

Some say he's Hungarian.  All I know is if someone like that raises his head and gets that close to being caught, my guess is you'll never see him again.  I see he's on Birdforum now.  How anyone with the criminal mind such as his joins a public forum is beyond me.  Some say his father is German.  Some say he's started a protection racket on Boothferry Estate.  Apparently, he's never been the same since Gianni's at the top of Mollison Road stopped doing curries.  Some guy called Redfoot.  Big black guy. I mean porker fat.  Some say he had a hand in Mermaid pub shutting down.  They just couldn't keep up with the payments.  He'd seen an Alpine Swift once, over the playing fields on Gower Road.  Most people don't know if that's true.  The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that that Alpine Swift didn't exist.  The new Sainsbury's Local on Bethune Ave didn't know what they was getting into.  When we were picking coffee beans in Guatemala we used to make coffee straight from the trees.  The coffee they sell in Sainsbury's Local is shit.  But then again, it is a shop I suppose. 


My employer, Mr Ted is most appalled at your behaviour gentlemen.  Not only do you not believe him about the Alpine Swift over Gower Road, you also did not collect the eighteen quid from the newsagents on North Side.  A most regrettable oversight gentlemen.  If you do not collect the eighteen quid then Miss Finneran will meet with a gruesome violation before she dies, as will your Uncle Randall in Arizona Mr Hockney, I may only castrate Steve Palmer's nephew, David.  Do I make myself clear gentlemen?  To be honest I haven't got a clue how I got from being an arch-villain's consort to running a small time brass band in west Yorkshire.

Verbal Kint:

When I was in the barbershop in Skokie, Illinois, the barber there spoke of an Alpine Swift over Gower Road.  I was there.  I mean, it was him, No Neck Ted, the devil himself.  He was looking through his binoculars and shouting "Alp!"

Agent Kujan: "But you had a gun"

Verbal:  It was No Neck Ted, Agent Kujan, I mean, the devil himself.  He used to deal Viagra to the kids for unprotected sex on the mounds on Tilbury Road.  How do you shoot the devil in the back?  I mean, what if you miss?  The biggest thing No Neck Ted is into at the minute is finding out who can say the words "bowling green" in the lowest possible voice.  I mean who can say "bowling green" in a really, really deep voice?.....

Now be honest.  You're doing it now aren't you?  You, the reader, are saying "bowwwwlinnnng greeeen in the lowest register you can!  What are you doing?!  Put it this way, you have just said "bowling green" in your lowest voice possible because an aging anti hero off Benedict was portraying a FICTIONAL crininal from a film 17 years ago published through a drunken birdwatching nerd on the internet that most of you don't even know!  The power of the  internet eh?

back to Verbal...

You know about the Alpine Swift over Gower Road playing field?  Well apparently they've drafted some Hungarians in to work at Bird's Eye.  Taking all the overtime so they say. They were on Gower Road when he's there, watching the Alpine Swift.  Some of the Hungarians say the record is s bit stringy.  To show what real will is, he lets the last Hungarian go. He waits until his wife and kids are in the ground and then he goes after the rest of the mob. He kills their kids, he kills their wives, he kills their parents and their parents' friends. He burns down the houses they live in and the stores they work in, he kills people that owe them money. And like that he was gone. Underground. Nobody has ever seen him since. He becomes a myth, a spook story that criminals tell their kids at night. "Rat on your pop, and No Neck Ted will get you." And no-one ever really believes.  No one really knows.  He's like a spook story, oh fuck I've already said that.  Steve Palmer once said that he doesn't believe in God but he's afraid of him.  Well I believe in God and the only thing I'm afraid of is No Neck Ted off Benedict.  I'm not sure why he's so obsessed with saying "bowling green" in the lowest voice but he is a super arch villain so I suppose he can do what the fuck he likes.

"Did you get the eighteen quid from north side?  How you doing Keaton?"

"I can't feel my legs.....Ted...."

Pete Postlethwaite in his latest movie "Brassed Off"
Which is about an arch villain who
strings an Alpine Swift over west Hull


Monday, 27 August 2012

'Lion' being searched for in South East.

The police have issued a statement:

Massive pussy, long nails, orange coloured skin Maneater on prowl in Essex.

I don't mean to be critical but that really doesn't narrow it down round there.

That was a good joke.
Wasn't it.


Friday, 17 August 2012

Handbag sales slump as Alan Mince reveals kitchen slags.

You know that I never tell you anything about my birding adventures?  Well here's why.  I was thinking of telling you all about my last Spurn visit, which was last week sometime, when I thought that there's nothing really to tell you.  So when you despair at the lack of proper, subject matter related posts, just read what utter shite this weblog would sound like:

Hello.  Todays visit to Spurn was pretty quiet.  I had a short seawatch which produced only 14 Oystercatchers going south.  A look on the estuary produced common waders including Dunlin, Knot and some fantastic Curlew.  Down to chalk bank where 3 Swift went south as did 4 Goldfinch although they could've realistically been local birds just flying around randomly.

There.  What a shower of shit.  Now be thankful when I spew filth all around the world wide web, talk aboot are Cheryl Cole's minge pet, and ramble about football and jeez zandwidjes. 

Fuck off.

Just fuck off.

After shagging Cheryl Cole the other day, I need to share three things with the male population:
1  Her bangers aren't that great, probably implants,
2  Her hair is definitely a wig.  Honestly, I know for definite, it came right off in my hand.
3  The staff in Madam Tussauds are right miserable bastards.

That was a good joke.
Wasn't it?

Football's back.  Hooray!  Yesterday, I thought Robin van Persie was a good player.  I've rated him for a while.  Indeed, I backed him at 10s at the start of last season to be top scorer so you see I really did rate him.  Yet today I find myself thinking he's now just a useless fucking dutch bastard who stinks of stale skunk piss.  He is also a twat, a woman-beater, and he fucks about with kids.  There, I said it.

Brighton at home tomorrow.  The Seagulls.  I wonder how many other teams have bird related nicknames?  The Owls, there's an easy one (Sheff Wed)......erm.....Canaries ( Norwich City).....not bad......actually there's more than I thought....Eagles (Palace)...Bantams (Bradfud)...Harriers (Kiddy)...Magpies....Newcastle.....and maybe Notts that right?  Fuck knows.  Bluebirds, Chardiff?  I suppose Chardiff aren't known as the bluebirds now with them going all red and that.  The bet the Chardiff fans BUMMED a load of sheep the day Chardiff changed their colours because that is clearly what they'd do, either in celebration or in opposition.  And if anyone spots the Vic n Bob Chardiff reference I'll be very surprised.  I bet Jim will actually.  Hull, the whole world!  I've just thought of another, Robins.  Swindon and Charlton (as well as addicks).  The last one I can think of without googling is The Tits (Leeds United).

Suck on that.

Ken Bates is fucking sound. 
I'll even  write a short verse, although I am proper pissed.

As usual.

As no one like Leeds,
And we are united,
At least you're not as bad
as Manchester United.

(did I really just rhyme 'united' with 'united'? v poor indeed)

You call yourself waccoe,
But you are not feared,
everyone loves Ken,
especially his beard.

So what's with the waccoe?
You never won it,
So get over it you bastards
As you've never done it.

Marching on together
Is the most annoying song
But you're 6 easy points
You know I'm not wrong.

When Ken was young
They called him 'master'
and now he's turning it
into a fucking disaster

We all like your beard,
you look like Terry Waite
But I'm more interested
in you being called Master Bates.......

...(up tempo)...

Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates,
Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates,
Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates,
Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates,
Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates,
Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates Master Bates,
Oh master Bates, we're behind you, never leave them........

I have no idea what I'm talking about.


Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Nice weather: good for rarities.

Seasons greetings.  Autumn is revving up albeit rather slowly.  I've a feeling the great British summertime is gonna fuck both peak migrations up, rarity-wise.  The Spring was nice.  Nice weather, warm, hot even, and definitely not the kind of weather that brings rare blighters crashing out of the sky for shelter at chalk bank.  Then the weather got shit, just when migration was gearing down and we really wanted a bit of sun for leisurely activities, beer gardens, childrens holidays, dogging and soforth.  As for autumn, I predict we'll have an Indian summer with warm cloudless skies through September into October when even with easterlies raging and rarities undoubtedly in the skies above chalk bank, if there's no shitty front of pissing stinking rain to ground the poor Siberian waifs then they just.....well.....carry on.  They probably carry on inland and settle just a few miles from the coast when they see a nice, lush cosy copse miles from anywhere where they will go undiscovered in the green and pleasant lands of blighty, feed up and carry on their epic journey instead of being chased all over a narrow strip of land covered with spikey, horrible bastard gorse, with sand blasting their tiny eyes, slightly acidic rain pissing all over them with circa 100 middle aged, overweight, balding men chasing them over dunes shouting 'stonking' much too loudly only to be netted, vetted, fingered, ringed, measured, violated, buggered then paraded in front of the very same circa 100 middle aged, overweight, balding men that had been chasing them earlier whom were still using the word 'stonking' yet this time were pointing big fuck-off shiny penis extensions on the end of a cameras in their poor bastard faces only to be released into more spikey, stinking, wet, dank, disgusting gorse with a ghastly pang and be chased by a different fucking sad set of circa 100 middle aged, overweight, balding men in green waxed jackets and nice shitty wellington boots and die of malnutrition/exhaustion/wetness overnight leaving circa 100 middle aged, overweight, balding men to retrace their long car journey the next morning, tutting and saying "It's gone" to each other when in reality as the poor Sibe lay there dying and alone, without a tear it drew its' parting groan.

Nice weather: definitely GOOD for rarities....


dead American Robin.  You can tell it's dead as all dead things
have their eyes crossed out immediately.
I realise I was talking about sibes and I've added an
image of a nearctic passerine but I'm not bothered,
so don't get all pedantic cos I already know
you monkey-spanks.


Sunday, 8 July 2012

jeez zandwidges and ravvle brizes

As this is a pure birding blog and only focusses on cutting edge birding ID features, the latest trip reports from around the globe, and how Man U are a set of bogus, glorified prima donnas then tonight I'm going to talk about cheese sandwiches.  And raffles. 

chapter 1.

A few days ago I awent (proper word) into a sandwich bar/shoppe.  I asked for a fairly standard type, the type which was clearly displayed on the 'menu'.  I can't think of a better word. 
"Cheese and Onion please gorgeous" said I, as I'm sexist.
"Great choice y'all, coming right up man" said she, as she was American.
Do you know what I was served?  Go on, guess.

Fucking cheshire.

Now don't get me wrong, Cheshire is a fantastic cheese and is one of my favourites.  But when I order cheese 'n' onion from a sandwich maker selling their wares, then it's just not right.  Cheddar, mature cheddar, Red Leicester, Double Glossoustershire, yeah, I'm on it, it's all fine with onion.  But the creamy saltiness of Cheshire?  Good lord above, with an English white onion?  Maybe a red at a push.  Or even a Spanish white.

"What the fuck is this?" said I, as I swear a lot.
"Cheese and Onion.  It's what you asked for man" said she, being American.
"Fucking Cheshire?" said I, as I still swear a lot.
"Cheshire?" said she, and unbuttoned her blouse.
"Everyone knows that Cheshire doesn't go with onion, especially an English white onion in mid July and I'm not sure where the fuck this story is heading as I am, once again, paraletic".
"Which cheese were you expecting Sir, missing you already" said she as she lobbed her tits out.
"Well, pretty standard Cheddar to be honest.  Nice fucking tits, though" said I, as I'm sexist and swear a lot.
"Are you looking for compensation, y'all?" said she as she's still American.
"Any sort of recompense is futile when it comes to cheese 'n' onion and the only ending to this story that I can think of is probably that I end up punching you clean in the teeth which I neither practice nor condone" said I, as I no longer swear as much.
"Have a nice day then Sir" said she and put her bangers away much to my lament.  Lament?  Is that in the right context?  Jimmy, check that one out for me.
At this point I quite predictably punched her square in the teeth, sending shards in all directions and simply walked out of the sandwich parlour.
Cheshire?  With Onion?  I tell ya.  It's like putting Stilton with dog wee wee.

chapter 2.

Went to the Jesus Christian Movement "Summer Fair" t'other day.  Bouncy castles were advertised.  There were no bouncy castles.
"Hey, Christian.  Where the fuck are all the bouncy castles?" said I, as I swear a lot....

.......Let's stop that right there.
There really were NO bouncy castles.  Jesus.  All there that was there was three raffles, a cake stall, bric-a-brac, a white elephant stall and a booth that offered 'free money and sex'.  A choir audition then. 

I had a go on the raffle for the children.  One quid for five attempts or two quid for ten attempts.  I went for the two quid option as it was clearly the better value for money.  The girls had two winners!  Sorted.  Hopefully a big fuck off teddy they can share plus a bottle of JD that I could 'buy' off them.  Even a 75cl would do.  All prizes were encased in those decorative bags you put your neices present in when you have NO wrapping paper.  That's definitely NO (NONE) wrapping paper.  Intrugued, eldest took out the first prize.... A teddy!  A small teddy to be fair, but at least they could share it.  Now for the bottle of Jack.....

Youngest unwrapped this one....

This is exciting....

Olivia pulled out this:
Surely the worst prize ever on any raffle ever?  To make the most of it, I ate it all in one go on the way home.  Thanks for that, the Christian community.  Seriously, that really was the prize!  Excellent.

ALL vicars fuck about with the choirboys.  Every single one of them.

There, I said it.


Thursday, 5 July 2012

Tennis, Football and some Music...

Andy Murray scraped through I see.  Every year he's the great British hope until he loses when he returns to being a Scottish cunt.  Wimbledon has been rained off every day due to the wettest summer for 250 years.  In Murray's Scotland it's been the wettest on record since last summer. 
I'll tell you right now, I don't want him to win.  Why should I?  He's Scottish.  All you Scots out there will back me on this one.  Let's face it the Scots never want England or an Englishman to win anything.  Why should they?  I can't blame them, they're Scottish.  Ask a Scotsman if he's British and you best expect a twist on the cheek from a pint of McEwan's Export.  But only if it's empty.  The Scots are apparently mortified with the plan for supermarkets to charge for carrier bags.  With this coming straight after an increase on the price of glue it really has been a double whammy for the Glaswegian population.

The Scots don't want us to win.  I totally agree.  Same with the Welsh.  I'm fine with it.  I'm English not British.  They're Welsh not British.  As for the six counties across the Irish Sea I'm not touching that one with a forty foot pole.  Made out of potato.

Is it me or is Murray's celebration of clenched fist whilst staring at his box a little bit annoying?  His box in the crowd obviously.  Saying that, I suppose it would be a GREAT celebration if he clenched his fist then bent double and stared at his box following every victorious point. 

The Scots were celebrating at Euro 2012 when England got beat by Italy on the usual pens.  To be honest, thank fuck we never made it to the final against a Spanish side that don't even need a striker on the pitch to beat you.  I didn't like their set up at first, six in midfield, even though Barca had played like that a few times last season.  The difference is, Barca have a certain person named Lionel Messi.  Still, they did it again and fair play to them.  Great side.  I think, nay know, they could put another eleven on the pitch that would still beat us. Those not included (on the bench or injured) in Sunday's final and would feature in my fantasy Spanish second XI to beat England includes Valdes between the sticks, Puyol and Albiol at the back, Juan Mata, Pedro as attacking midfielders, with Torres and a certain David Villa up front.  Jesus Holy Mary mother of God, the THIRD string would have Pepe Reina with the gloves and Llorente up top.  I sort of wish Messi was Spanish just to see it.

I watched the final on Monday afternoon and, amazingly, hadn't heard the result which was a result in itself.  Why hadn't I seen it on Sunday you cry?  Because I was....

......somewhere near Manchester.........watching.....

........the one and only....

You heard it right, The fucking Stone Roses!
Get in.

They came on to Adored.  They had to.  They just had to.  Fucking get in!  I saw more than a few blokes wipe a tear away.  One big bloke was just stood there with his hands on his head and his mouth open, aghast, with tears streaming down his face when they did This is the One.  I never thought I'd see them together again.  WE, collectively, never thought we'd see them together again.  Let's have it!  Browny's pretty shite live but that's part of it.  Reni backs him all the time to stop him going flat.  But they are the greatest band.  The greatest.  They were fucking brilliant.  Apart from Mani swapping to a yellow and green bass with the words Mani United written on the back.  The Mancs bastard.  And they never did either of my favourite tracks, Tears and Daybreak, the fucking bastards.  I was sure they'd go straight into Daybreak when they were doing Ten Storey Love Song.  They didn't.  Then Squire went off stage.  I was sure he was swapping to acoustic, surely to do Tears?  They didn't.  Ollie should've been with us.  Ollie WOULD'VE been with us if he wasn't upside-down 12,000 miles away.  (Me Darren and Fraz by the way Ol)

Tears.  Studio version.  Have a bit of that.

Bejaysus it was muddy.  And getting out was a nightmare.  I rang a radio-controlled taxi to get back to the digs.  When I got in there was a driver in the driver's seat.  False advertising surely?  And evaporated milk.  I bought some evaporated milk only to find the tin still full.  While I'm on a rant, can someone please answer me this;  What is the point of Soft Porn?  People who like porn don't like it.  And people who don't like porn don't like it.  So what's the point?

No point whatsoever.
At all.

Friday, 8 June 2012

She's a Roller...

Now then. Blog land has been awash with Roll/Roller/Rolling related titles, so today I thought I'd chuck my ring into the cat. I was gonna go with Roll With It after the Oasis number but I thought I'd take my time and say what I say and don't let anybody get in my way cos its all too much for me to take. To be fair I never stand aside I never be denied I wanna be what I be and I'm going with him apparently. So. She's a Roller. Urchin. Adrian Smith's band before he joined Maiden. And he sings it. It's a bit lame really.


The Roller, as you all know by now, is mint and shows great and is cracking stonking and crippling, corking and spanking. I cannot add any more.

Whilst cooking a curry last night that would've melted steel I thought of a great joke. The funniest joke ever. It really is great:

I went to an Indian restaurant last night and the waiter asked what I'd like.
I said 'Well I want a dish but I can't remember the name of it'.
'Tell me what it's like' said he.
'Well it's a dirty story of a dirty man with vegetables and fruit in a yoghurt' I told him.
'Ah, you must mean a Paperback Raita'.

Now you've got to admit that that was probably the greatest joke ever told. Ever.


Went to see controversial Harriers today. Pallid/Monty's and all sorts of rumours. I spoke in depth to one of the Lincs birders and they're trying to piece it all together. As for me, I saw 'it' briefly and at distance, through bins. My description would be submitted as follows:

Weather : overcast, rain at times, shit light.
Optics used : Aldi's own 6 x 22 plastic bins (not waterproof).
Description : it looked like a bird. It was sort of brownish. It could fly. Seen very well from c3-5 miles range for 4 seconds.

I'm not sure if that would get it past a rarities committee but it is useful in that it rules out all birds that are not brownish and also all flightless birds so all is not lost.


Wednesday, 30 May 2012

Howay pet.

Sat Nav? I've got something called Ovi Maps. On my phone. It's a built-in sat nav basically. I've never used it. But yesterday I did. But I shouldn't have bothered. These sentences are very short. I don't know why. They make me sound a bit of a stupid twat. And, let me tell you, using sat nav made me look the stupidest twat imaginable. Hartlepool Headland? Yeah, I've got a rough idea how to get there, M62, Market Weighton, go towards York, skirt York to the west for A1 action or east for A19 action. But hey, I'll put the sat nav on, might as well. It's there, may as well use it. Towards York the sweet voice of the hot chick from sat nav world told me to 'at the roundabout take the 3rd exit'. Third exit? Nah, she's trying to take me A19 I'm gonna go A1 today. First exit instead. The chick from sat nav land then turned into Cheryl Cole and pipes up 'recalculating route pet'. Now I really really would, as all men would, I'd wear her like a hat and everything, but the routes she was trying to take me were quite mental.

Long boring story short, I tried to reroute her, then didn't believe her, then believed her so followed her, then realised that she didn't have a function that said 'turn around when possible' which was the crux of the problem. Three hours and twenty minutes later and I arrived at the headland and looked at the Western Orphean Warbler then turned Chezza off on the way back and did the return in two hours dead. Fucking sat nav. Well, a bit of me too. In short our Chezza really needs rooting but as for routeing she's a bit shit pet. I would wear her like a fucking hat pet.

Today's initial plan was to see Spurn's Roller then go up north for Orphean action. The rarity value got to me and I did Britain's 6th and the first twitchable one since 81 first, alas, the Roller wasn't seen after midday. Alas indeed. Rarities are all well and good but rarities on your favoured birding area are different.

And that.

But anyway, after last year's White Throated Robin and now the (now dead) Orphean, Hartlepool Headland has become THE Spring destination for birders. Indeed the local B&Bs are already inundated with bookings for next year. The locals have hit a goldmine and have advertised rooms at hugely inflated prices almost as if the World Cup was coming to town. Online, rooms are being advertised at a staggering £18 including breakfast and the price of a pint in the bowling club is set to rocket to £1.60 for stout and a staggering £1.35 for a parnt o' marld. When I asked the club owner what he was going to spend his annual windfall on he said "probably another cracking rarity from the Portland car park pet. Summat like a Moussier's Redstart. We'll 'trap' that fucker and milk arl you dry again like. Howay an shite an a canny bag o tudor"

Thanks to Peter Beardsley there for the interview.


Friday, 25 May 2012

Buzzards set back Lightyears

Fellow blog persons have already spoke about the crazy DEFRA driven Buzzard persecution at some depth and have little to add to what has already been said. Although the irony that has been missed is that Buzzard numbers are to be controlled (thus reduced) to allow more Pheasants to be available to be shot. Dead.

Get it? Reduce Buzzard numbers so more of the species they are 'protecting' can be killed!

Killed. With a big, fuck off gun.

Hmmm. It's the craziest thing I've seen since Richard Fairbrass released Deeply Dippy. And that was crazy.

Saw a Pallid Harrier last week. After 3 visits to Patrington I finally managed to get a view of it for a massive 5 seconds. Elusive? You can bet your entire ballsack it was elusive. I did not see a Creamy Colourationed Courser though as some evil bastard, who will remain nameless, left without me and successfully scored with it. I did actually text him that I hoped the fucker gets eaten by a cat just before he got there. But it didn't.


Sunday, 13 May 2012

another guest entry from Lee, Bucks.

Welcome, Welcome, Welcome, my subjects to another grammatically prefect blog post from yours truly, LGME. As leader of British birding and anti coalition government (BOU/BBRC) campaigner, UKIP400 is proud to bring you the news that the Flamboro Flycatcher is a nominate race Eurasian Common Nominate Pied Flycatcher (baroli) as I always have to add random words to the standard name to make me sound that bit more important. I saw this bird and knew immediately that this was a clear Eurasian Common Pied Flycatcher and my, sorry, UKIP400 advisory board's splitting of Iberian Pied Flycatcher the same day was merely coincidental and was not aimed at giving me some insurance of a tick when DNA results were known.

I now come to my second incredibly balanced point on taxonomy. It is with great surprise that UKIP400 are to LUMP two species into one, something that I, sorry, UKIP400's advisory board have never done in it's gracious 30 year history. The species LGRE and a very similar species are to be lumped together to form one, the LGME (Lee George Michael Evans) as the advisory board feel they are inseparable in the field. Features such as perma-stubble around the moustachial stripe reaching the ear coverts, gold cross below the left ear coverts, crest swept back, denim hot pants around the vent are all typical of both taxa. Indeed the only feature that separates the two in the field is that the eyes are strangely too close together in the former.

I am thinking of issuing law suits to various websites and individuals that take the mickey out of me and my party. Especially this one. In fact I will not be writing anymore guest entries for Q. That will show him. May I add that the Flamborough Eurasian Common Pied Male Flycatcher (baroli) has been at Flamborough since November as there was one at Filey around that time and has clearly relocated.

I'm off to sing Father Figure to passers-by in Soho.

Thankyou for your continued support.


Thanks to Lee from Beds or Bucks whichever it is. Nominate Eurasian Common Pied Fly? Really who'd have guessed it? I give up. It's all just to hard. There.


Saturday, 5 May 2012

Charles Atlas

Hello and good evening to all.  Liverpool have just been beat in the Cap Finoow and, therefore have failed to extend their lead over Man U in the overall trophy standings as most successful English team ever.  The Mancs only count titles at the minute as that's the only stat they're in front at.

Enough of them bastards.  Actually, no, tweet of the fucking decade (aka ever) was Rio fucking Ferdinand saying that Man City fans are "glory hunters".  Ha hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. 

I was at a fancy dress party last night.  The theme was 'detectives'.
I went as Bodie, obviously, but noticed my black mate naked in the corner with a piece of wood stuck up his arse.  "What the fuck have you come as?"


Is that racialist?  Not sure really but if it is then sobeit.  alloneword.

I did laugh though and I'm no racialist.  Nyaaa!

Atlas Fly?  I've seen the Flamboro bird.  What a cracker.  I'll reiterate that, WHAT A CRACKING BIRD.  This, for me, is like no other Pied or Collared I've ever seen.  It's jizz, the way it acts, the brightness of the white in the plumage.........erm.....this is something I've never seen before.  It's a stunner.  In my opinion (and with DNA evidence on the way) I'm sticking my neck out ( but then retracting it - see later) that this bird is a pure Iberian race Pied.  If....should I say IF 2nd calender year birds follow the general rule for adult males then my vote right now is fully in the Iberian camp.  Literature is such that 2cy birds are not fully covered.  Sort of.  My opinion right now is that the range of features fit Iberian nore than Atlas but I accept that in one years time in this birds life, the forehead patch, the patch at the base of the primaries etc could turn out to be typical Atlas.  Right now it fits Iberian but it is within Atlas's scope.  I'm gonna say it.......with the obvious chance of ridicule.......this isn't a hybrid.  |Repeat, this isn't a hybrid.  I'm no expert, I'll leave it at that.

No I won't, what a great bird.  This is different.  Go see the bastard.

I still haven't managed to get a post on Birdforum through (i.e. un-editted by the facist admin)  that contained the word minges.  And it's not for the want of trying.  I first attempted to have the word minges recognised officially on Birdforum after the Western Sand twitch with the Secret Twitcher during which he killed four Badgers, a Horse, seven voles and Meryl Streep then ate fourteen tins of Corned Beef for pack up.  He never offered me any.  I will get minges through and officially uneditted on Birdforum.  Believe me.  Having failed 813 times it is now an obsession.  Look out for it.

It will be on the Atlas Fly thread somewhere,  Shall I do it once and for all?  It is my ambition to have the word minges NOT deleted/editted on Birdforum.  Game on mo fo's.

A Hat.


Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Come on Spring, Give me Something to Post About Instead of the Following Bollocks

Hey, Thayer's Gull might taste like pumpkin pie but I'd never know cos I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker.

What in god's name has gone on?  I've read last nights efforts and it seems that some fucker has highlighted certain words as advertising links!  How do they do that?  Not sure what's going on.  Are they allowed to do that?  Anyway if you think I've sold out and 'monetised' the site then I haven't.  Although do feel free to visit any of the sponsored links that appear on here, particularly B&M stores who really do offer great value for money on all your household needs right across their 2,000 stores nationwide.  But really, who the fuck has done that to my elegantly written post?  That's art that.

After my post on directions re the Thayer's Gull, things changed quite quickly and the "white tanker" field had suddenly become viewable from a (maybe not so) public track.  Farmer Palmer did actually come up thar in that thar tracurr and never shouted get arf ma land so perhaps it was public after all?  Obtained much better views than the previous seventeen visits so it was as brilliant as it gets.  Or maybe it was just a deep shitty brown thing that was in a shitty field, walking in shit and eating...........shit.  Thayer's Gulls sleep and eat in shit.  That's a filthy animal.
And now all you bird fanciers, have a look at my anti bird shit deterrent.  Maybe that's a double negative.  A bird shit anti-deterrent would attract bird shit wouldn't it?  Oh I don't know.
Anyway, here's my new device to stop filthy pigeons SHITTING on your car.  It will also work for filthy bastard Thayer's Gulls with their filthy shitty habits.

Hilarious Q.  Yawn.

In the news this week was Simon Cowell's admission of an affair with Danni Minogue.  I loved his comments.  When asked what attracted him to her he said "It was the sexy clothes and tits" hahaha how crass can you be about Kylie's baby sister?  It's sounds like something I'd say on here.  He might as well of said "Well, you know, it was her terrific sexy clothes and hairy arsehole that did it for me."

I've got some great Man U updates for you but that will have to wait for another day cos yesterday I got the craziest of all house ticks.  Peregrine!  Over Hessle!  My first over Hessle ever yet they used to be seen now and again on the Humber Bridge.  It was high and being harassed by a couple of gulls from the Herring taxa.  I looked up to look at the expected Sparrowhawk circling but the wing shape, you know that Peregrine wing shape?  Well it had that wing shape.  Earlier in the day 3 Canadian Gooses goosed past the house going west.  Cool and the gang.

'What' ain't no country I ever heard of.


Saturday, 21 April 2012

Can't really think of a title.

This is the god's honest truth.  I've been trying to post for the last few days but I've been that bladdered that I haven't quite managed it.  I started a post on Monday night, blogger auromatically saved it before I gave it up as a bad job.  Reading between the lines it looks like I was about to go on a Man U rant but got frustrated and just starting typing whatever I was thinking at the time.  I know I talk some shite but this is honestly what I'd wrote that night,  It was a Monday after all:

shit maN DO I#VE JUST HIT THE CAPS LOCK BY ACCIDENT.  There.  Sorted.  I am, of paralethic.  Is there really qa h in paraletic?  I think there is.  so, shit man do.  I went for thirds of the Thayer's Gull on Wednesday or Thursdqay I caqn't  really remember pet.  It was a bequtiful beautiful dark brown shitty brown ball of juvenile brown shit that I've ever seen in my life.  As for MAN U, they're just cunts and oh fuck off you set oif nancs bastards,  have you hewqard of a playr called tosicw who apparently playeed for them cunts oh fuck off i;m about as fuc4de as fucked xcqan be i cant even type ill lreavre it as thas.

Hell's teeth!  I should probably address my drink problem but first..................

.......the last few posts have been done off mobile which meant no opportunity to place the usaul random images that afflict this blog.  Well, fuck you all cos I'm on the mother in laws laptop whilst she's a broad (sic) so I can now BOMBARD you fuckers with utter randomness such as this:

Pigs in Blankets are nice aren't they?  It looks like they've garnished them with old skool curly leaf parsley.  Why would you do that?

As I was trying to tell you all in my somewhat garbled drunken post that was auto saved fron drunken Monday, I went to see the Thayer's Gull yet again.  I've seen it 43 times now including 8 visits in the same day.  I only go this often because the bridge tolls have halved to £1.50 each way.  Think of the money I'm saving.  I started looking into the taxonomy of this species but, to be fair I've had enough of typing this late on a Saturday night and my chicken phal has just arrived.

You slags.

Impromptu all nighter last last lead to a Leo Sayer today which ultimately leads to chicken phal action from some local Indian chefs who cook whatever I want.  They even drop it off for me in exchange for money. 

I've got loads to talk about from Rio Ferdinand being a twat to Danni Minogues flaps but I can't be bothered.  Sorry.  I will do it tommorrow.

Can I have fifty pounds to mend the shed?


Friday, 6 April 2012

Info on viewing the Thayer's Gull

For anyone going to have a look for the Thayer's Gull in yellow-belly country, here's my thoughts on viewing based on my time there yesterday. The original site is along the minor road from the 'roundabout junction' of the A15/M180 to the village of Elsham. There's a small electric building/station/can'treallythinkoftherightword halfway along which is opposite the ploughed field where the bird had been found. The viewing from here is pretty limited as the gulls settle just over the brow. In my opinion this is where the bird feeds for most of the day it's just that you'll realistically only get brief flight views from here unless you're very lucky. From here, the bird goes to bathe and generally chill out with his home boys on an area within Elsham Hall itself. Follow the road from the original site through the village until you reach a T junction. Go left. Left I said. Then go left into Elsham Hall and park ABSOLUTELY ANYWHERE leaving your car or moped strewn across the road or even leave it rammed into a farmers gate like I did. The chill out area can be viewed from here, in fact set your scope up on the roof of your car (or moped) and view from atop your vehicle. Atop? Good word. The bird came into this area 2 or 3 times yesterday spending 20 minutes or so at a time. This is, realistically the best place to get it on the deck but will require some patience.

In summary, you have two options, 1 stake out the original site and get lucky (also, if it's found at the chill out zone you should still have time to connect from here) or 2 stake out the chill out zone and wait and if it does show, it shows well.

There. Just my opinions. And not one swear word. If this helps just one person, I will have a warm glow for the whole Easter period, safe in the knowledge that I have helped a fellow human in my quest for a beautiful world.

Edit: the bird is missing a primary on the right plus two central tail feathers which allows you to get onto suspects even at height.


Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Local Megas - Edited from yesterday.

A few avian highlights locally, with 3 Lapwing over the house whacking themselves directly onto the house list. Next came a vis mig corvid extravaganza with 3 Jackdaw, and 8 Carrion Crow all separate or in twos all West from the house. Next up a Chiffchaff singing on territory on Costello on 20th March which is my earliest ever in Hessle, well actually, Costello is within the Hull limits on Boothferry estate, home of course to the notorious No Neck Ted off Benedict, but it's still pretty fucking close to Hessle, even if they do only eat tinned Corned Beef it's not their fault.

So what can top THAT LOT? I'll TELL you. TWO more Jackdaws and ANOTHER fucking Lapwing that's WHAT! Well I SUPPOSE they don't REALLY top it THEY just add TO the LIST.

This is where I've missed the whole point of this post. True, Jackdaws are mega but I forgot to tell you about the really really mega mega. Yep, 32 Whooper Swan (s?) went very low North over Ruby's primary school. Well that's my excuse for being outside a primary school. With binoculars.
In a rainmack.

On prod.

So, 32 Whoopers over Hessle, the same group was seen high over Bubwith a little later that day. Hessle tick! I'd presume by their altitude that alighted fairly close by, perhaps from north Lincolnshire? Who knows.
End of edit.

As you all know The Professionals is the best programme ever made and Doyle's Capri is the greatest car in the world ever ever. Avid fans of the Professionals will know that Bodie's call sign number is 3-7. Now 3-7, where have I seen that before? Can't think.


Monday, 12 March 2012

Man U rant

All you Mancs bastards will be excited about Sky's proposed new channel. It's a general sports channel but will make references to Manchester United as much as possible, even when the story is not really related. Plus, in their live football coverage, Gary Neville (son of Neville Neville) will now be a pundit AND commentator on EVERY game just so they can ask him for a Man U anecdote and talk a bit more about Man U even during Norwich vs Wigan. This new channel is to be called Sky Sports News and will be broadcast on channel 405...oh...hang on...

I've got man flu. Man flu is a term invented by women because they think that men can't handle illness and always exaggerate just how bad it is. Well, both girls had a bug this week which they shook off quite well but then I started with similar symptoms, aching legs, sickness, man flu, and really aching fucking legs. This only meant one thing. Polio. Had to be. Just had to be. Therefore the above Man U rant can be excused as I have polio and, ergo, I'm not happy.

Back to Man U. The media big them up big time. It's their personal propaganda machine. They really do bring Man U into any story they can. Cunts. Man U are bigger cunts. Yesterday across the bottom of the screen came "Athletico Bilbao lose 2-1 ahead of their game with Man U". Big news! But at least a chance to bring Man U into it.
Let's look in the paper, I'll find something... I will....

...right, found one. It's easy. Swansea 1 Man City 0 write up in the Sun. What's the headline? Surely something about a great win for Swansea? Or the really very good football they've played since they've come up? What about the way they still try to play football even against the big sides? Or the excellent job that Rodgers is doing there? No. None of that. It reads:

"Luke who's a hero for United"

with reference to Luke Moore who scored the winner.

To illustrate Man U propaganda I give you this. Beckham was voted runner up in the World Player of the Year in 99. All the Mancs sucked each other off and shouted about King Becks being the second best player on the planet. I asked a few of them, "so who's the best player at Man U?"
"Erm...probably Giggs....or Scholes".
"Who after that?"
"Schmeichel. Then Stam then probably Beckham".

So Beckham is around the fifth or sixth best at Man U but he's the second best in the world?

Upside down Ollie is laughing right now cos he knows what I'm like with Man U. I think I can rest my case.

Rant over. Back to being poorly.

"But have you anything to tell us about birds or birding? Anything at all" shouts the frustrated audience reading a supposed birding blog.

No. Not a thing.


Thursday, 1 March 2012

Darkies. There I said it.

I talk a lot of predictive text on here but today threw up a strange one. I was texting Nicola something and used the word 'earlier'. So I spelt 'earlier' and it was going well until the last letter and it gave the word 'darkies' as the first option! Now picture Kyle's mom off South Park saying 'What what WHAT?'. So really, how in god's name has the word darkies darkened the halls of Nokia HQ? It's a strange thought but when Ian Nokia was designing the new smart Nokia N8 (I'm flash as fuck, me) and thinking of functions and that, when he got to the predictive text section he must've asked himself 'Now what words should we put in, we can't put them all in?' and he's added darkies and earliest. Darkies? What the fuck is he doing putting darkies in? Ha ha ha ha is he one of those racialists? You see, he didn't even add the word 'racialist' mainly due to the fact that it's not a real word (I'm posting from my phone again which is why you've not had any childish pictures at the end of every post just lately). So, darkies! I couldn't quite believe it. Darkies! Darkies? I'm gratuitously writing the word darkies just because it's the first time I've ever been allowed to use the word darkies without fear of being labelled a racialist.
Anyway, it amused my tiny mind for most of the day.

I've just watched a cat 'stuck' up a tree. It was quite high and was clearly looking for a way down. There was no way down. I envisaged a short trip to the van, which is parked outside a corner shop owned by those earlier people, to get my ladders to rescue said cat. Cats get stuck up trees right? The fire brigade rescue them right? So how come this one just shimmied down the trunk using it' Easy. It just got down. It moved a bit like Catwoman and what would you do to her eh? Fuck me. There's a cheap pussy joke in there somewhere but I'm not going there.

Catwoman, fit as she is, is not the fittest fictional character/super hero out there. No way man. What about Wonder Woman? Now you're fucking talking. And what about Jessica Rabbit off Who Framed Roger Rabbit? What would what you do with her/it?

You fucking know you would you sick cunts.


Sunday, 26 February 2012


You can't say a lot on Birdforum without being:

a) shot down in flames
b) misconstrued
c) called a hoaxer in public
d) pulled about some dodjy spelling
e) pulled about some dodgy grammar'
f) called a sicko just for posting some 'artistic' pictures of naked ten year old boys.

I've been on the Yorkshire thread just lately and can actually understand how things do get twisted. The written word can sound harsh and can certainly be misconstrued. Oh I love cooking apples.
'What? You love the fruit the Cooking Apple? You're weird and a hoaxer'
No I just love the act of cooking some apples. You see? How many times has a text sounded a bit shirty yet the sender meant it all in good spirits? Never? Oh well fuck you all then.

Then I started having dreams. I had a dream like Danny Dyer's in Football Factory. I dreamt I'd just been in a massive off with Millwall (pronounced Miwow in the facking sarf) and got my head stoved in under an underpass. As I laid there half unconcious, a hoody type walked up and asked me if I was alright.
'Been better. How about you?'
'Me? Oh I'm dead mister' he said without showing me his face. I woke up screaming every time.
This same dream continued every night until one night the hoody type revealed his face. It was Bill Oddie. I woke up screaming again. This continued for some time until one night Bill Oddie spoke to me. He whispered 'Never try to be funny on Birdforum'.
Aaaaaarrrrrghhhh! What the fuck does that mean? I woke up screaming again and smashed my monitor with the nearest thing to hand, a copy of Razzle and half a pint of diluted orange in a pint glass from two days ago. This was it. What did Bill Oddie mean? Why didn't I use some other lame celebrity like Keith Chegwin to try and get just one single cheap laugh?
Do I go to Miwow? Should I dig the Forest Hills out and start towken facking cockney innit? I did neither. I care not about Miwow, it's Leeds at home in a couple of weeks. That's the one. Keep it tight City. Kev once told me; 'don't have any more than 4 pints, have a tiny dab of Billy, then wait til you see the whites of their eyes and fire at will'.
Bill Oddie walked upto me in the dark underpass. Blood trickled from my lip. And nose. He removed his hood to reveal his face and said in a 10 year old girls voice 'you alright mister? Never try to be funny on Birdforum'. Alright, alright I get it. From that very night I never tried to be funny on Birdforum again and the Bill Oddie dreams stopped. Well, not quite. I'm still in the underpass and a hoody still walks upto me but now it's Jo Guest before she got fat, she strips and I eat blueberries from her naked hand.
'you alright mister?' she says.
'Facking right I am' I say and look down at my Trimm Trabbs.


Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Language of the mad.

Drink up, shoot in, let the beatings begin, distributor of pain, your loss becomes my gain.

Arrived at Woodhall services a little late due to time passing as normal instead of passing around 33% slower than normal. I did not take this anomoly into account and on arrival the Secret Twitcher, who had already slaughtered a fox with his car by this time, had left me, thinking I was still sleeping in my slumber. We rearranged the meet for the next services on the Motorway1. This is important to the day's story so hold this thought.

We arrived at Pagham Harbour and got pretty cold and had very very great tickable flight views of the Paddyfield Warbler from a distance of 4 miles through the optical aid that is 8 x 42 binoculars. Hmmm, Dog's bollocks! And I do NOT use that phrase as a superlative. Mr Secret killed a bog standard, basic Rat with his car to which he was neither happy nor sad.

Onto Calshot in Hampshire. I picked out the Spanish Sparrow and got the few people present onto it... for a whopping 3 seconds. A lot of searching ensued yet we saw nothing more of the bird. Big Elephant's Cocks.

Into the New Forest. The Secret Twitcher had murdered an innocent Badger with his car much to his delight and shortly we found the site of the Slate Coloured Junco. It wasn't there and hadn't been seen. Hairy Pigs' hairy Slots!

'What a Big Horses Fat Vertical Bacon Sandwich' I said to Mr Secret as he dropped me off at the wrong side of Motorway1. He'd killed a small pony with his car and was licking the blood from his radiator grill.

I clambered my way over Motorway1 and found my facking mowta. Going the wrong way down Motorway1 I had to turn round. I turned round but the extra mileage used getting to the further services then onto the junction to turn round had used up most of my stored diesel. Big Donkey flanges!

Never mind, I've get enough to get me to the next services. Only just. A sign then adorned Motorway1: No Diesel at next services. Bull's Bells! Oh shit. No really. Shit. Off at the next junction. Found a garage immediately! Deep joy! No diesel, Sheep flaps. A distant Otter cried out in pain as Secret's car stoved it's fucking head in. Onwards. Really need a garage and where the fuck am I? Finds a garage in the nick of time. Dieselled up to fuck I set off. I'd travelled minus 5 miles in an hour and a half! Big *insert animal* hairy *insert genetalia euphemism*!

I missed my girls today which is an unusually soft and tender moment here on Q@Spurn and is a much needed respite from the stupid animal genetalia euphemisms that have afflicted this post thus far.