Yesterday was, in a "local-birding" context, a good one. For me anyhow. 2 buzzards flew overhead at the estuary, and then ... a Lesser Throat sang. The first one of the year. A nearby human ♀ stopped in her tracks. The first one I ever saw was, sure enough, in a high hedge. And so was this. It was about time this duff spring got going. Then, in the p.m. at the coast I got 2 Wheatears ... at last. That's v v late. ..and then, on the way back, 2 Tree Sparrows. Yo! And ..woo ! Tree Sparrow features on one of my most unusual lists..... here is that list ... Tree sparrow Little Auk. That's it. The whole list. A clairvoyant might work out what the list is actually about, but I doubt that you will. Then nothing momentous happened until 9:30 pm when I was getting the cat in. I think you already know that he's called Lupin. Anyhow, as I opened the door, I heard a v v v v distant v v v faint Tawny Owl. Just in case it was a distressed sheep or a child of some description, I listened some more and yes ... it was. A bloody ♂ Tawny Owl. Cripes. Normally this wouldn't matter two hoots ( ho-ho). Tawny's are the norm where I live..... totally taken for granted. But this year ... none. Not a hoot, not a ke-wick, not nowt. Grrr. I blame stochastic processes. Unpredictable beggars, those. So that was good too. Nothing momentous , nothing of much significance to anybody else. But I liked it. But ...but ...where are all the Swallows ? I saw 4 about 10 days ago, and I've seen a couple of singles, but that's all. I hope there isn't a crash. You know those "crashes" ... we had a Whitethroat crash years ago ... they just never arrived. A Swallow crash would be .... a bad thing for the nation's morale. And topically, here's a Nena Daconte song about Swallows ... "Golondrinas" in Spanish .. it starts "when the cursed swallows die, they don't return to the city." I think it's fair to say that this song is sung "ecstatically" .... Wasn't that absolutely scrumptious ... including all the mistakes. That's genuine live music for you ...and now, you have the chance to sing along and improve your Spanish accent at the same time ... here you go ...
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Hey ... I've opened the attic/office window .. it must be, er, what did we used to call it ... spring ...... something like that. And it is now something like that. But .... off we go ... I'm sure many of you in readerland remember this magnificent edifice .... It is now long gone of course. Time and tide whisked it away. It is the wonderful "Beach Cafe" at Cley... "real" name " Arkwright's Cafe." From about the age of 16 or so, I've been going to the N. Norfolk coast on holiday almost every year. In the beginning it was with my parents, and that evolved into my parents + my family, and then just my lot. Things were slightly gloomificated by my father, who refused to be seen with me in public for many years ( long hair.) We've sometimes turned it into a two-county affair by trooping down to Suffolk for the 2nd week. Woo ! I can well remember my v. first Cley visit.... my dad dropped me off... and drove off sharpish.... I've told you about him ..... and I wandered around in the searing heat and saw my first Avocets from the big mound in front of the then minuscule hut. !! Crumbs. At that time all I had was a pair of ex-navy (?) 5-ton bins but they worked. They were so old, you had to focus the right and left sides separately. They were the days. Proper bloody birding. [ hey ...with the attic window open I can hear a Bullfinch calling sadly and descendingly outside. ... ] That day I didn't go to the Beach Cafe ...but I did walk past it. I don't think I ever entered an actual cafe until I was about 19. Or maybe more. But I've been lots of times since, though I can't remember it being as posh as that postcard shows it to be. It was always good in there ... you get knackered and scorched and boiled walking round the reserve under the Saharan sun .... or else you get blown to shreds by the searing wind and covered in sand and foam ( slipped in a Donovan song there) and then you step eagerly into the cafe and ... yes, it's either boiling hot ( good weather) or rattling like the sails of an ocean clipper ... smart. I especially remember the big bookcase full of the sort of books that even the junk shops can't sell. Ancient crap novels about Lord Haughty or Sir Kingly Houghton-Hough, pronounced "Hoon" or old religious tracts, or what my mum called "spicy books" with garish drawings of loose women on the front. It all went downhill once the huge shingle bank which kept the sea out got breached and the council could no longer afford to keep patching it up. Eventually the big tides just shoved the whole thing over, smashed it to bits and dragged it out into the North Sea. .. this is the way the world ends ... not with a bang, but a whimper. That picture is good though ! So ... no doubt here'll be more about my Norfolk experiences ..... but now, it's music time .... Vetusta Morla .. " Profetas de la mañana " .... Of course, you'll be wanting to sing along ...here's the "words video " Hacia donde caminan los besos inciertos
cuando resbala la madrugada. Peinamos Gran Vía buscando huesos y luces verdes que nunca se apagan. Alumbran las tragaperras profetas de la mañana. Cuando nadie cierra por dentro y el sol hace de bisagra comparto tu misma noria, la giro si no me paras. En la Roma o en Palermo en Gracia o la Candelaria se acuesta la misma historia soñando con ser soñada. Estiramos la prórroga de este partido temiendo que el sol rasgue sus legañas. Cruzamos los túneles sin aliento cuidando del otro con la mirada. Camiones de la limpieza auroras en al batalla. Que tiemblen los ministerios que ardan las embajadas me subo a tu misma noria, la giro si no te enfadas. En la Roma o en Palermo en Gracia o la Candelaria se acuesta la misma historia soñando con ser soñada. Cuando nadie cierra por dentro y el sol hace de bisagra comparto tu misma noria la giro si no me paras. En la roma o en San Telmo en Gracia o en Malasaña se acuesta la misma historia soñando con ser soñada. Eventually the rain stopped .... and it got quite warm. I went outside into the garden, and dried the chair, and the table, took my cup of coffee out with me, sat down and looked around to see if "anything was about." The Jays that have hung around our area for the last 3 years or so were racketing distantly in the trees .... they quite often come into the garden as well. Then, I realised that one had landed about 3 feet away from me, on the back of the "other" chair. I've been close to Jays before.... I've found a few dead ones, and ringed quite a few as well. But this was much better than any of that. I suppose it stood there for about a minute ..... sort of half looking at me.... probably wondering if I was among the dead or the living. It's a close thing.... at my age. Then it flew up into the trees and was gone. Birding, birdwatching, ornithologising, all of that, brings whole realms of these moments of pleasure. It's not the only channel, but it's a powerful one. Which is good, because we are only minuscule assemblages of molecules in a harsh, mainly deadly, universe. We've got to take our brief pleasures when we can. All this self-immolation , all this anti-life no-this no-that crap that lots of ideologies want us to follow ... they're sick. Life is an incredible, unbelievable gift ... let's do our best to enjoy a bit of it. This stream of thought all got triggered , once again, on Desert Island Discs !! Sue Perkins chose the Kate Bush song " Moments of Pleasure" ... a song I've always loved. It's totally full-on, a bulldozer of emotion ..... at the end she says goodbye to all her dead friends. Some moments that I've had
Some moments of pleasure I think about us lying Lying on a beach somewhere I think about us diving Diving off a rock, into another moment The case of George the Wipe Oh God I can't stop laughing This sense of humor of mine It isn't funny at all Oh but we sit up all night Talking about it Just being alive It can really hurt And these moments given Are a gift from time On a balcony in New York It's just started to snow He meets us at the lift Like Douglas Fairbanks Waving his walking stick But he isn't well at all The buildings of New York Look just like mountains through the snow Just being alive It can really hurt And these moments given Are a gift from time Just let us try To give these moments back To those we love To those who will survive And I can hear my mother saying "Every old sock meets an old shoe" Isn't that a great saying? "Every old sock meets an old shoe" Here come the Hills of Time Hey there Maureen, Hey there Bubba, Dancing down the aisle of a plane, 'S Murph, playing his guitar refrain, Hey there Teddy, Spinning in the chair at Abbey Road, Hey there Michael, Do you really love me? Hey there Bill, Could you turn the lights up? Right from when I was a kid .... 12-ish I suppose .... I loved those Latin names. I don't know why .... I somehow thought that they were pretty essential as they were often the second thing the books mentioned. I say "books" .. I only had the Observer's book back then .... and there they were in all their glory ..... Falco tinnunculus, Upupa epops, Sitta europea, Larus minutus ... I still know them all...well, nearly all. This was mighty odd though. At school, Latin was the worst thing in my life, well, apart from Rugby. No kidding. For a start, both of the Latin teachers were seriously mad/dangerous. My main one had a row of canes in his cupboard, and they all had names.... James, Martin, Sidney .... it's true ! And when anyone did anything he didn't like .. it didn't take much.... he would be dragged out to the front, usually by his hair, marched to the cupboard, told to open the door and pick one of the canes ... whereupon he would be soundly thrashed with it. That person was often me. My Latin dictionary (we had to buy our own) was full of underlined bits .... all those bird names .... Perdix, Passer, curvirostra, Strix .... and one day in morning break this Latin teacher was on yard duty, and I went up to up him, full of 12-year-old enthusiasm, and asked him about one of the names and showed him where I had underlined it .... it was "haematopus" ..... this was his big chance to be human and kind etc .... but all he said was .... " you should not be writing in your Latin dictionary" ..... and that was it. So much for education. so much for encouraging interest and learning. Plus ... it was my bloody dictionary and I would write whatever I liked in it. But the big event was to come much later, half way through the 4th year. We had to learn rego - regis -regit etc for homework... and the first person he picked in class the next morning was me. Needless to say, I had forgotten it. Well, that was the end of my school Latin ... he dragged me out of the room ( by my hair... that's another story) and told me that I would no longer be allowed in his Latin class. I spent 1½ years worth of Latin lessons either sitting outside the room or wandering the corridors. Latin-wise, I had become a non-person.Very Kafka-esque, that was, even though I didn't know it at the time. However, I was to get my own back. In later life I learned to read Latin using all 5 volumes of the Cambridge Latin course, and I've read Winnie ille Pu and Domus Anguli Puensis in Latin, and Regulus ( The Little Prince), and the first two Harry Potter books ... and lots of "real" Latin too. So there. Hah!!, I still love those Latin names .. Puffinus puffinus ( not the Puffin of course), Boa constrictor, Homo erectus, Ips typographus, Platyarthrus hoffmannseggii , Ciniflo similis....... I've still got that Latin dictionary .... and the bits I underlined .... if I manage to find it, it will be at the top of this.. if not, it won't be. [ So far I haven't found it ][Bah!] And now, it's raining outside ..... mid-bloody-April!! And cold. And windy !! So ... here's an appropriate Death Cab for Cutie song .... " A lack of colour" Well, I was right about Chris Packham and his "song titles" tricks. Last time I showed you his " Cure" season and his " Smiths" season, where he cleverly slipped in loads of their song titles into his commentary. Nip back a couple of posts if you fancy having a look. I also suggested that he might have done the same thing with other bands .... but I hadn't spotted them because I wasn't so familiar with their songs ... and I was right. He did .... he's done the same things with Madness songs ..... loads of them in fact ...here we go.... Did you "get" them all ? I suspect I haven't ..... Anyhow, it's music time .... let's have a song from Bangor Pier..... Huw M and friend + Seddi Gwag ... empty seats .... Yesterday, for the first time this year, me, The Significant Otter + cat and dog sat out in the garden and had us dinners. At last. Naturally I was hoping for something good to fly over .. a Swallow or two, a Buzzard or Raven or better ... but not much actually did. There was plenty of the local stuff around ... lots of songs and calls. But we ...well, me .... were entertained and impressed by a Starling high up in a nearby tree. It spent most of its time being a Starling, naturally enough, but fooled me for a while with its brilliant "Curlew" impersonations. Yes, I ricked my neck a few times trying to spot this flyover, only to realise it was the speckly thing in the tree. It also did brilliant Oystercatcher calls every so often, but I was used to them.. it's been doing it for weeks. But best of all .... a few times it did a perfect Little Owl call.... the " wow" one. There are Little Owls around our way , but they're not so easy to find as they used to be. I love them. It's one of those species that I can remember the very first time I saw one. It was perched on top of a huge boulder in a quarry near Dalton-in Furness. Ace. That was 40+ years ago. Ouch ! They also have been very close to the house at times .... one used to like sitting on the top of the telephone post across the road. He was a noisy ...but welcome ...sod ! O gorau ... digon o geiriau.... smotyn o gerddoriaeth...... dyma Y Cyrff gan "Cymru, Lloegr a Llanrwst" .. ... and if you want to sing along ... ... and here's where the title of the song comes from ...
I'm sure many of you remember the early days of Springwatch ... when that Chris Packham used to slip in subliminal song titles along with his normal explanations of why Robins were small, and why Gannets were big. He had a "Smiths" season .... including "What difference does it make." ... that was easy to slip in .. in fact it's not a bad answer to that Robin/Gannet thing .... he probably managed to get quite a few other in there .... Meat is Murder, Is it really so strange, Stretch out and wait, Heaven knows I'm miserable now, Panic, How soon is now, Bigmouth strikes again .... it's easy to see how those could be wheedled into a " normal" birding-related paragraph. Mind you, "Vicar in a Tutu" would be a tough one ... no way !! I bet some of you doubters out there are thinking ... surely you've made that up. Well...have a look at this ..... He also had a season of Cure songs .... now there's some really juicy ones there ... "Like Cockatoos" is a no-brainer. In fact, I did a similar thing this morning ... I distinctly remember telling The Significant Otter that it was a Strange Day, though not Hot, Hot, Hot morning, that I fancied visiting A Forest later in the day, but there was Never Enough Time, but I might be able to slot something In Between Days . Just see how subtly our Chris bungs in a whole cavalcade of Cure song titles in here ... I think he's stopped doing it now ... or maybe he's just moved on to bands I'm not familiar with. I rather hold out a hope that he'll "do" Gorky's Zygotic Mynci next time... there's loads of absolute sitting ducks in their back catalogue ... for example .... Merched yn neud gwallt ei gilydd ( would go well with "mutual preening") Bocs Angelica ( she probably kept her bird-ringing equipment in it) Cwpwrdd Sadwrn ( that's where she keeps her bird food supply) Sdim yr adar yn canu ( well, they don't do it to order you know) Sbia ar Y seren ( whilst waiting for the owl/nightjars to get going) Eira ( winterwatch) Methu aros tan haf ( nor can I) Bwyd time ( that's when he fills the bird-feeders) Pentref wrth y môr ( handy for seabirds) Siwt nofio ( for getting undersea shots) Beth sy'n digwydd i'r fuwch ( what indeed ?) Here, for your delight, is that first one ..... There's been this theory going around.... " The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs " There's been a huge load of tweets ( how appropriate) about this "thread" or whatever they call it. Most of them are rubbish.... just a bunch of amateurs mouthing off. Basically, most people seem to think it's true. Of course, there are a lot of issues around this ... [a] Birds aren't actually singing to appeal to us humans. We're latecomers on the scene. [b] What do people mean by "pretty ?" [c] Is there any "real" meaningful, scientific way to measure "prettiness?" [d] There may be areas of the globe where this is true. [e] ..and others where it's not. [f] ..does "song" have to be taken strictly .... can calls be included ? [g] Bullfinches have a beautiful call ...to my ears at least. [h] How do we define "littleness?" Weight, length, volume ... ? [i] Do different cultures experience " prettiness" in the same way ? All those points, and many more, have been bashed about over the last few years without much of an "answer." No surprise there. Though there does seem to be a general feeling that it "should" be the case. But here's a few of my own thoughts ... [1] Hummingbirds must be the first port of call .... their songs are pretty feeble. Here's an Anna's hummingbird singing ... it's OK, but nothing special. So ... that's made a right mess at the bottom of the graph. However .. [2] If we go to the BIG birds .... their songs are crap ... in fact, singing isn't really their thing. So at the "gross" top end of the graph you've got to agree.... the biggest birds do sing the crappiest songs. [3] Wrens ... they're pretty small.... I wouldn't call their song "pretty" .... striking, yes. Effective ...yes. [4] Warblers ...well, that's a big field ! Lesser Whitethroats ... a fine song ID-wise, but pretty ? Nah. Whereas your Willow Warbler .... sad ... but nice. And all stations in between. [5] Some of the finest singers.... well, at least to my Caucasian, middle-class ears .... are thrushes. They're a good way up the "size" range. Certainly not the littlest birds. [6] Let's put it another way ... what's the biggest bird with a decent song ? Suppose we stick to the UK.... I've no idea !! Golden Oriole ? It's a sweet song ... but not the best by any means. Well, I've not got very far with this really .... so I think we ought to go to the source .... who started all this debate about, essentially, an unsolvable issue ..... ? They're the ones to blame for all this. They knew in the first place that it would only cause arguments ... as if the world hasn't got enough of those already ! So here they are .... Well I feel like an old hobo, I'm sad lonesome and blue I was fair as a summers day Now the summer days are through You pass through places And places pass through you But you carry 'em with you On the souls of your travellin' shoes Well I love you so dearly I love you so clearly Wake you up in the mornin' so early Just to tell you I got the wanderin' blues I got the wanderin' blues And i'm gonna quit these ramblin' ways one of these days soon And I'll sing The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs... Well it's times like these I feel so small and wild Like the ramblin' footsteps of a wanderin' child And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill Singin these blues with a warble and a trill But I'm not too blue to fly No I'm not too blue to fly cause The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs... Well I love you so dearly I love you so fearlessly Wake you up in the mornin' so early Just to tell you I got the wanderin' blues I got the wanderin' blues And I don't wanna leave you I love you through and through Oh I left my baby on a pretty blue train And I sang my songs to the cold and the rain I had the wanderin' blues And I sang those wanderin' blues And I'm gonna quit these ramblin' ways One of these days soon And I'll sing... The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs.... I don't care if the sun don't shine I don't care if nothin' is mine I don't care if I'm nervous with you I'll do my lovin' in the wintertime Bloody troublemakers ....
Here's my write-up ..or rather "palimpsested type-up/sketch-up" of one of our "expotitions" from years ago. I've made it small because it just goes blurry when biggered. I typed this using a tripetapper .... in those days it's all we had ....still, it was a step forwards from John Bull Printing Outfits. A Quantum Leap .... politicians used to talk about "quantum leaps" but then someone with a brain told them that quantum leaps were [a] very very very very tiny and [b] often fell back to where they came from very very quickly.So now they call them " step changes." Bloody gormless bunch they are. Straw-Boaterists I reckon. So that you can savour the full story, I'm going to tripe it out all over again, just about 27 years later. Ouch ! I've also interjected ( oooh-er missus) a few additional comments and made a few wise adjustments ... WELSH TWITCH 24th MARCH 1991 The day for me began at about 3:30 am when I got up and started to get myself ready to CYCLE ( I've warned you about that a few posts ago.. #32 actually) the 10 or so miles to "Gnagrats", home town of "Mr. G". I had to meet " Mr G" at 4:45. Our plan was to go to Holyhead first, get the White-Billed Diver , then go to Clocaenog for the Crossbills.. so an earlyish start was required. I set off to the sound of a Robin singing in Cornwall Road, and soon discovered that it was a very cool night indeed ! On the way to G's I also ticked Rooks, Mallards, blackbirds and Song Thrushes. In no time at all ( not..it seemed like an eternity) I turned into the palatial drive of " Wetfield" and a short time later we met up with Big Mo and Boris. It was a merry journey indeed as we bowled ( wobbled would be better word) along telling stories about " The Boss" aka Bruce, Ed Starling et al, and also getting on with the day list.... [ don't get too excited here] Canada goose was binned by Big Mo, Tufted Ducks, Kestrel, Lapwing, Starling , b'h and Herring Gulls, Feral Pigeon, Collared dove, Wood Pigeon, a flock of 99% certain Fieldfares, Magpies, Jackdaws, Crows ... even a Fulmar off the coast ...but before that we had a brief but productive interlude at sunny Halkyn-by-the-Sea. Here we had to overcome the profound gloom of "Mr "Eeyore" G" as he told tales of locals, gamekeepers, dogs.. not to mention no sign of the famous Lady Amherst's Pheasants ! Despite this, Roy "they're all asleep" Higgs led a successful expedition past the gravestones to the very spot he had seen them before. Nuthatch, Blue tit, Great Tit, Ordinary Pheasant, all were duly ticked to a background of " You're definitely trespassing Roy" Big Mo spotted a m-m-male L.A.P legging it into the foliage.A brave away team led by Roy ( 1st Officer ... Boris) trespassed even more to gently encourage the target bird back onto the path where good views were had by all. No dogs, no locals, no enraged landowners were to be seen. Big Mo and Boris had ticks, Eeyore had ½-a-tick, but Roy had none. So off we shot to Holyhead. And when we got there, the cupboard was bare. Oh dear ! [Luke, ch 13, v 28 ] Pulling up alongside a lot of scopy-types we found that the target bird ( White-Billed diver in case you've forgotten) was not, repeat not, in the harbour and had not been found. Oh woe! At this point it must be mentioned that Roy, alone amongst our "party", remained optimistic and sure that the beast would be seen. We went round to back of the harbour where there were more scopy-types but all they had was the Red-Necked Grebe. Soon we had it too. The whole harbour was remarkably deserted birdwise, with a R-b merganser, turnstones, redshanks, house sparrows and a few manky cormorants, so we made a quick decision to go to the bay before Holyhead which Mr.G and Roy knew to be a good spot. [ Well readers, that's a good place to leave a cliff-hanger... the rest will appear next time ... or at least, fairly soon. -ish. Will we spot the WBD ? And if so, which jammy sod will find it? Do any of you care ? What's the music going to be ? ] Well, I said I'd bung Joanna Newsom's fine song '81 on here ... and here it is, words and all .... it's all very allegorical of course .... Well, this is no ordinary story .... no. As you can see, there is a FULMAR in the title, and a WREN lurks in reverse almost immediately afterwards. There's plenty more to be found, and not just UK birds either. I've taken one or two liberties on the way, as you will no doubt see, but they were all, interestingly. in the interests of interestingness .... you should be aiming at 40+ ...... luckily some of them are really really obvious.. THE CASE OF THE TEARFUL MARINER Wearily Mr. Allen S. Gallinu leaned forward, his hair cascading in a golden arc towards me."Well' I may be a miser in some things, I may not get out of puff in quicker time than you, but one thing you must quite allow, Mr. Holmes. The body was stiff. Furthermore, without being too critical, a quantity of mandarin oranges was found in the stomach of the victim. Holmes replaced his nib, organising his thoughts. Our progress was nil. Nude bodies are rare in our small circle, and for Roy, alternative comedian, to be found dead in a hovel, fowl-smelling and rancid was unknown. " I resist all ideas that he died alone. Various clues point to a rosy future for this investigation. I'd reveal more facts.... but tell I, Watson, do you remember the case of the beer-barrel bra? We nipped that one in the bud, despite rumours of a ban. An aquittal was secured by a mere fluke of law !" " Nil remonstrandum" replied Watson, " a typical case of 'duam evodacni , aqua illud' if I ever heard one. A solemn silence filled the room. when to our amazement an arrow rent it in twain, thudding into the desk-top. Around the shaft was a piece of paper, black, not unlike a a scroll. Erasing all fear Holmes unwrapped and read it. "Leo,Pooh, Roo ,Kanga, Childhood tales fill my anger. A shapeless hag, I step inside ... Hadrian's Wall owes ten nag's hide." "This is kindling to a fire" said Sherlock, " a fire which will burn swiftly and who's prey is our skin. Grail we will not see at the end of this quest, but one day the black cap of the judge will prevail. The killer will fall in nettles of his own making, and out efforts will dip peroxide on these black deeds. We will remain alert, S.E Kensington is our hunting-ground. Watson looked up.... " you are not a budger. I garnish these tales, but Gad, wallow in sentimentality I will not." Finally, with a bruised rib, frustrated by paucity of evidence, Holmes retired to his study. ........................................................................................... I typed this many, many years ago.... for all I know, many of these birds might be extinct ! Some of them were, as promised, dead obvious, some pretty dastardly, at least one of them needed a subtle mis-spelling ... but now, music .... Zahara ... " Chica Pop " ..shall I mention that there are loads of versions of this on't net. No. no no no ....... el día que quiso parar
siguió bañada en diamantes tan sólo quería pasar en roma sus vacaciones ella es una chica pop frágil como Marilyn por Warhol se llamaba Edda Kathleen era un cuatro de mayo y girar gritar!! y tratar de olvidar que tiene una casa sin vistas y tratar de olvidar que tiene una casa sin vistas no puede evitar fumar su piel son colores quemados te mira y no sabe mirar se pega como tierra mojada ella es una chica pop atrapada en papel fotográfico se entretiene con mirar a través del cristal y girar gritar!! y tratar de olvidar que tiene una casa sin vistas? y tratar de olvidar que tiene una casa sin vistas.. Nature news.... 1st willow warbler singing in canal trees this morning.... and a ♀ mallard with 15 chicks in tow. Sssssssssppppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggg |
AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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