We're not worthy

Last night, during my usual perusal of various birding websites, I discovered a terrible thing. In fact, to use one of John Shuttleworth’s favourite phrases, I was devastated. Why? Because the best, funniest and sweariest birding blogger has decided to call it a day. I’m talking of course about Tom McKinney’s ‘Skills-Bills’ website, which has entertained like-minded spotters for the last three years.

Maybe he simply wants to ‘quit while he’s ahead’ (which he certainly is, by a long way), but if it’s just a case of getting bored with it, then please, Tom, don’t be a cunt – at least give us an occasional update. Or maybe you just need to give it a rest for a few months while you recharge your swearing batteries, and then carry on? But if this really is the end, then all I can do is quote from the Master: Fuck. Tits. Bollocks.

Mud

I’m not a big fan of ‘forums’ (yes, I know the correct plural is fora, but it's a very odd word to spring upon people without warning). They always seem to bring out the worst in people (unlike my posts on this site of course...). But despite my general antipathy towards them, I do occasionally look at the Surfbirds one if I see something interesting in the list of messages that appears on the photo gallery pages.

So, having read Mark Reeder’s admirable post on the poor behaviour of some birders at the Steppe Grey Shrike twitch, I thought this thread might be worth a look. It was. In particular I’d like to draw your attention to post #4, from none other than our dear old ‘President’.

Listen to the wise words of El Presidente. If he says that ‘mud-slinging’ is abhorrent, then it must be true, and we must never, never indulge in it. Because once it starts, there is ‘no stopping to it’! We must also follow the Presidential decree to ‘uphold the law that the bird's welfare must come first in all cases.’ And we must all be thankful that our universally respected and democratically elected leader will always play his part when it comes to self-policing at twitches.

Fortunately there’s a good reply further on in the thread to this ludicrous (but totally in character) attempt at claiming the twitching moral high ground. The story of L.A.R.G.Ego emerging from a reedbed with a big stick in his hand reminded me of an incident on St Agnes many years ago, when we witnessed three very eminent birders (at least one of whom was on the BBRC at the time) thrashing about in the reeds surrounding the Big Pool trying to flush an Aquatic Warbler, which could be seen perfectly well from the edge. They did at least have the grace to look sheepish when the error of their ways was gently pointed out to them. Actually I think it was more along the lines of “get out of those fucking reeds NOW!”

I could name and shame them, but I shan’t as that would be mud-slinging, and I’d never do that.

Sound advice

I didn't watch this video on the Grauniad website, as it appears to be about the American presidential election, and therefore likely to be coma inducing, but the headline says it all really.

And if you choose not to follow the advice, you've only got yourself to blame if, like one recent hapless contributor to the Surfbirds Stop Press Rarity Photos Page, you find yourself paying £130 to see a Red-backed Shrike...

Just say no.

Official - celebrities to blame for cold snap

A perfect example of the ridiculous ‘blame culture’ in which we now live: on the BBC’s interactive TV news this morning was the headline ‘Cold snap blamed on Arctic air’. Really? And there was me thinking it was the fault of Jonathan Ross and Russell ‘No honestly, I’ve fucked every woman in the world even though I sound like Frank Spencer and look like Amy Winehouse with a beard’ Brand.

Obviously I was wrong. But is it really the fault of the Arctic air? Clearly not, but since the BBC is now officially the televisual wing of the Daily Mail, someone or something must be to blame! Who shall we blame for the recession? I know – Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand! Yeah – it was all their fault for earning too much and having silly hair. I say sack the fuckers!

Whatever the reason, it was certainly cold this morning, and cold weather often equals good birds. There’s probably an equation for it, but being completely useless at maths I have no idea what it might be. So I went to Rutland Water, hoping to find a diver or a seaduck or something. But the most exciting bird I saw was a Rock Pipit at the dam. Actually that is pretty exciting in Leicestershire. I wrote it down in my spotter’s book. Also at the dam were a pair of Scaup and a rather late Swallow. After that I saw nothing else apart from this friendly Stonechat at Eyebrook, and I was back home by early afternoon.


Oh dear. I seem to have got stuck in ‘tedious birding diary type wank’ mode. Don’t worry - it’ll probably wear off soon.

Glad I'm not on Shetland now

I had a text from Rob this afternoon saying that the wind had recently gusted to 93mph in Lerwick (that's pretty fucking windy), and that he was currently without electricity. However, it wasn't all doom and gloom, as he'd added Grey Phalarope and Leach's Petrel to his house list! Who needs power when you can see birds like that from your house? What did you have for tea, Rob - that Wryneck in between two pieces of dry bread? We had a lovely toad-in-the-hole, with roast potatoes, glazed carrots, peas and gravy, and for pudding... sorry, I turned into John Hague there for a moment... where was I? Oh yes, he also found a White-rumped Sand on the pool, but that wasn't new for the house.

By the way, if you haven't looked recently, the waster's finally got round to updating his blog with all his gripping tales from September... and some rather less gripping tales from October.

Another thing to be glad about is that (unlike some) I didn't go to South Wales today to look for a dodgy-sounding Little Blue Heron. No, I stayed in all day, looking out of my window in case the Merlin that 'Beast' saw at Stoughton Airfield yesterday decided to fly past. It didn't.

P.S. we had some wine as well.

Funny bird

Well it obviously wasn't a Blackburnian Warbler or a Mugimaki Flycatcher, but I'm still not sure what my auntie saw in her garden the other day. Further 'pumping' has elicited the following additional information (bear in mind that she originally said the nearest thing in the book was Pied Wagtail): it was perched on top of a hedge, then flew down into next door's garden; it was about the size of a Blackbird or slightly larger, with quite a long tail; its plumage was 'more striped than a Magpie', and the orange was 'underneath'.

If you took that description at face value, you would have to conclude that it wasn't anything on the British List, and possibly not even anything known to science. Now, the chances of my auntie finding something new to Britain in her garden are remote, and the chance of it being new to science is zero. So, unless it was an escaped cagebird, it was probably something common.

But what? Bill Oddie said in his Little Black Bird Book that "99 per cent of laymen's funny birds refer to Jays." That's always a possibility, but the Pied Wagtail bit makes me think it was more black and white than that, and I think I'm coming round to the view that Great Spotted Woodpecker is the most likely candidate.

All of which only goes to show just how hard bird identification really is, and how much most of us take it for granted that we can quickly and easily identify most of what we see.