Saturday 23 May 2009


Until recently, if you Googled ‘Andrew Mackay’, my website (the sensible one, not this one) was usually second, after that of the Tory MP for Bracknell with whom I unfortunately share a name. It was top for a while, but he obviously pulled strings to get it relegated to second place.

But now, since that weird-eyed, slimy piece of shit (is that libellous or just satirical?) fiddled his expenses to the tune of some £140,000 (allegedly, he added quickly), my website has slipped to a poor fourth on Google. At least it’s still on the first page though, which I suppose is something given that the MPs’ expenses scandal is the top news story at the moment and that Andrew Mackay MP is one of the chief offenders.

But how many journalists have clicked on the link for my website, wondering if it’s the same person, doing a bit of moonlighting in addition to his MP’ing and expense-fiddling? And what would they think if they found this load of nonsense whilst digging for dirt on Andrew Mackay?

Oh well, perhaps I'll get some pet portrait commissions from journalists...

Wednesday 13 May 2009

The Day The Birding Died

It was "in or around 1999" according to LGRE (click here to see what I'm talking about!)

With apologies to any Don McLean fans...

A long long time ago
I can still remember how that murrelet used to make me smile
And if I said I’d been to Hoy
Then I could claim I’d seen ‘the boy’
And maybe I’d be happy for a while
But February brought no year ticks
My Vectra went through fourteen gear sticks
Bad news on the pager
The bustard’s gone, I’ll wager
I can't remember if I cried
When I heard about the crowded hide
But something touched me deep inside
The day the birding died

So, bye-bye, missed Acadian Fly
Drove at least ten million miles
With no word of a lie
And them good old boys were tickin’ Whiskered at Cley
Singin' this’ll be the day that I die
This’ll be the day that I die

Did you write BWP
And can you tell a Western from a Semi-P
If Lars Jonsson shows you how
Do you believe I saw that swift
I’m off to Cornwall, do you want a lift
And can you teach me how to age a crow
Well, I know that I’ve seen more than you
'Cause I’m always first in every queue
You can kick that off your list
Man, I saw all the ones that you missed
I was a lonely, teenage twitchin' fool
With my suit and loafers, I was pretty cool
As I scoped that cuckoo at the pool
The day the birding died
I started singin'

Bye, bye etc

I met a guy who’d seen a rare
And I asked him if he’d tell me where
But he just smiled and turned away
I went down to the optics store
Where I'd bought my Leicas years before
But the man there said the insurance wouldn't pay
And on the down called Wingletang
A plover called, then someone rang
But not a word was spoken
My mobile phone was broken
And the birders who admire me most
Svensson and Heard (that’s not a boast)
They claimed a Steller’s off the coast
The day the birding died
But they were stringin'

Bye-bye, missed Acadian Fly
Drove at least ten million miles
With only one eye
And them good old boys were tickin’ Whiskered at Cley
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die