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....
....themselves.
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.
......................
No comments:
Post a Comment