Sing Hosannas it’s a Boy. Merry Christmas to all three of my readers. Or if you’re muslim, sikh, etc Merry Christmas as you should embrace our culture just as we are being forced to endure, sorry, embrace yours.
Political rant out of the way early, we move on to a quite incredible chain of events on the Land of Shet (credit Ruby Q) on the last day, day five, also
known around those parts as Friday.
We started the day heading up to Unst for the long staying Ortolan which Joel quite incredibly “needed” for his super spotter top jotter crazy botter tick list. So we went and looked at it. Right at it. It was right at the top of the English county of Scotland. I even screenshotted my location just to send the girls. I’ll have a look for it now hang on. No, I can’t find it but I can sense you’re not even bothered anyway. I don’t know why I bother.
So we saw the Ortolan and Joel did a jig on the beach. The beaches in Shetland are really nice, and I’m not even talking shite for once. In fact here you go seeing as you didn’t believe me:
Told you.
We ran along the beach singing Pebbles on a Beach by Paul Weller but not because we were on a beach oh no sir. It was merely because we were sure he mentions Ortolan Buntings in the lyrics but we’re really not sure if this is true. Or not. I don’t really like beaches. You get fucking sand everywhere don’t you? Now I know you must EXPECT to get sand everywhere because a beach is, erm, made out of sand or summat, but it stays with you for weeks. I took the kids to Withernsea beach in summer and two weeks later they were still able to build sand-mosques on the back seat of the car. I drove past Bridlington beach once and had to dig the dog out out of the car. Just googling the above photo, Ive ended up with sand in my blueberries. I was only gonna have one anyway. So I don’t like sand but paradoxically I like beaches.
Thanks Leo Sayer. Keep them coming.
Now here is where the fun starts. We birded Unst a bit and found FUCK ALL, and then we said we best get off back to the mainland as we were flying that night. This proved to be very important people.
As we headed south the plan was to get to digs, sort gear out (clothes, luggage, trinkets and personal belongings not recreational drugs as there aren’t any) then bird the south then fly on an aeroplane. News then came through. Crazy news. Joel was driving.
Holy shitsauce.
I could only half think and speak.
“Where’s Scottburgh? You’re not gonna believe this”
I then couldn’t/didn’t tell Joel for what seemed an eternity. (Certainly for Joel).
Part two to come!
Suspense.
Miss Marple.
No Neck Ted off Benedict.
No one’s bothered.
I still haven’t told Cleggy which must’ve been an age for him.
“Least Bittern.”
“What? Least?”
“Yeah, as in the yank Lesst. Jesus. As in First for Britain type thing” said Dillon.
We went silent for a moment.
Household tips from everyone’s favourite household tipster, Leo Sayer.
We were getting on a plane and needed to be at the airport soon!!Mad dash to the digs, pick gear up, mad dash to see this, got there with about two minutes to spare when the bird was picked up and taken into care. It died. But a massive tick on our bird spotting jotter pad list! Amazing.
Shetland is mad!
I’ll sum up in the next post as this has taken fucking ages to write and I’ve just finished it off real quick.
I’m sorry.
But big shout out to Leo Sayer who loves to give household tips.
