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.
...............
Monday, 27 August 2012
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.
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 County....is 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.
...........................
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.
Ooof.
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 County....is 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....
....themselves.
......................
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.
......................
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.
Cheshire.
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.
..........................
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.
Cheshire.
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:
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)
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?
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.
There.
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.
Sigh.
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.
....................
There.
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.
Sigh.
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.
....................
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.
....................
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
