We've had no poetry recently And precious little of verse So I've written something hastily Something snappy and terse I went down to the seaside And at first it was fairly duff But at last I got into my usual stride And saw some decent stuff ! There was nowt about when I started And the wind was ever so keen It felt like a giant had farted For a while nothing decent was seen.... The usual waders were zipping around Dunlins, RPs and that's all Nothing of wonder, nowt to astound I thought, is that going to be all ? But crikey ... a Hooded Crow appeared Flying inland from the sea ! My spirits were lifted, my gloom had shifted My heart skipped about like a Flea ! And then an excellent Whinchat appeared Not a thing you would routinely spot Then a Stoat crossed the road, a sighting most weird Up my sightings were starting to tot ! I drove home in a state of contentment Though it might not seem brilliant to you But quite soon I could be in the mynwent ( = cemetery in Welsh) So ..for those birds I say merci beaucoup ! But in my notebook all that is compressed into this .. Loads of Ringed Plovers and Dunlins .. and a few Turnstones Hooded Crow flew inland at 1532 Whinchat .... 1623 Stoat .... 1627 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And as for music, this seems remarkably appropriate ... ... and it's a words video, so you'll all want to sing along... ... in Spanish, a very sensuous experience ....... ....
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So here we are in a slightly relaxed version of the already vague "guidelines" And almost every day I've been doing a big circuit round my little dinky bit. But a little while ago there was one day where I went somewhere else. And guess what ? A juicy stonking rarity turned up. Just a half-hour stroll from my house. Bang on the route of my aforementioned stroll-ette. And lots of people were contacted about it and they all saw it. But you'll never guess what .... .. nobody contacted me. I was a trifle irked. And I went to that special spot just on the off-chance. And there was the trampled ground where hordes of people had been. And I scanned said Special Spot atom by atom. But there was A Great Emptiness Therewith. Grrrrr. I can see now why train-spotters do train-spotting. They're big and noisy and you can see and hear them a mile away. So bins and scopes are not required. And you don't need 37 field guides either. Or all those CDs of songs and calls. And unlike many a bird ... .... generally, they tend to turn up. A bit late sometimes. Bah. Here's an alphabet-load of cryptic birds for you to unravel .. .. it took me 15 minutes to think them up and type them out ... but I hope it takes you a bit longer to pin them down ... [a] A twisted string [b] Victory conversation [c] Icy act [d] Russian Flier [e] Stealing [f] Breathing heavily [g] Hazel breaker [h] He misses the bird [i] Bulb or insect ? [j] Sailor girl [k] Partition emphasiser [l] Australian victim [m] Female relative relative [n] Banned singer [o] Shilling ! connection. [p] Liverpool fan's girlfriend [q] Irked invoice [r] Baking girl [s] Hangman's headgear [t] Certain prank [u] Lock conifer [v] Centre f 25mm [w] Conch 0 [x] Oriental headgear Adam [y] Canes appendage [z] Dark pint And now .... a competition ! That photo up at the top .... which I took a very very very long time ago .. What would be YOUR cryptic clue for that ? but now, on with the music ...... it's Piano Fresh-addition and Cygnus Mare As you can see below, I've had another comment (???!!!) .... and here's my reply to it .. for some stupid reason, the "reply" button isn't there so I've had to put it here.
Beth sy'n digwydd indeed. Rwyf wedi gweld llawer ohonyn nhw .. wel, tua wyth. Ni allaf gredu fy mod wedi cael dau sylw mewn dau ddiwrnod ar ôl cael dim ers dwy flynedd. Beth sy'n Digwydd ? Yes, my " Pyramid of Bird Books" is still under construction, and I'm still finding more books to stick on it .. one of which was this ... I suppose I must have bought it in some charity shop about 100 years ago ..... ..... and in it, I found this ..... Hide and Seek Thirty-seven different birds are hidden in the following sentences ( group names, such as godwit, as well as specific names, such as Wigeon). As a help, the first one ( Swallow) is underlined . " Tourists often visit Hadrian's Wall. Owning a car is a bother only when it goes wrong, and one has to travel by 'bus. Tar dries very much more quickly in cold weather. I prefer black, not brown, shoes for going for a stroll, erecting noticeboards, etc. Keeping a dog as a pet relieves one from worrying about burglars during one's sleep. Love remains long after one's girl-friend leaves. Go into the kirk and see the pastor kneeling beside the altar. At the start of a race, every swimmer lines up to dive in. On the golf course the good golfer usually hits par. Rowing is another way to keep in training. It is nice to have toast in the morning, or a grilled kipper cooked under slow heat. Earnings have not kept pace with the cost of living. The okapi is not a common animal. Lard is a fair substitute for butter.Registered letters should be sealed with sealing-wax. Win great honours on the track by running a four-minute mile and being the first one. Chattering is a well-known failing of women. Henry the fifth rushed from the banqueting hall shouting , " It is not nice to have too many beggars wandering through the streets, but there are some there every day !" The rock-pool investigator may receive a crab's nip. Every keen angler likes to fish again and again. It is not possible to rate all the horses equally at Ascot. Erecting popular holiday camps is the job of Sir Billy Butlin. Netting butterflies is the hobby of lepidopterists . Every show must have its compere. Grin enough at the comedian's jokes and you will enjoy the show. Louts tilting slot-machines in amusement arcades may be prosecuted. The penalty may depend upon where the trial is held. Rake together all the autumn leaves into a bonfire, repair the trellis, up which climb rambling roses, honeysuckle and clematis, and then have a rest on a hollow log. Saucy men often find that they get a slap ! Win generous prizes in Ernie's draw. The old lady slipped over on the icy highway . Big boxing contests provide a big purse. Ringing has provided an insight into bird navigation. When Jack climbed the bean-stalk he heard the ogre beginning to sniff and smell him out ; Jack did not like the ogre. Attitudes have changed now regarding how renunciation of a peerage affects a politician's career. The Italian, German, English and French words denoting consent are si, ja, yes and oui." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Neither of my faithful readers will have forgotten my own attempt at a thing like that , and mine is much better than his in my humble opinion. Mine tells a story, for a start. Its a strange and unlikely story, but it is a story. And mine included birds with their names reversed !! Ha ! ( or alternatively, !aH ) Anyway, judge for yourselves .. mine's at the far end of this nifty link .. 41-the-case-of-the-tearful-mariner.html What's more, I didn't get the idea from him ... oh no. and an odd thing ... I couldn't find a picture of the cover anywhere on't net. Crumbs. Well, 'tis music time now ..... the excellent Philipp Poisel Why it has all gone over here I don't know .
Ich will nicht bei dir klingeln, Und ich tu es doch. Ich will nicht an dich denken, Und ich tu es immer noch. Ich will nicht von dir reden, Vom Sehen ganz zu schweigen. Schäm dich was, dass du dich immer noch In meine Lieder schleichst. Ich hab versucht mir einzureden, Dass du ja eigentlich garnicht so schön bist. Dass du bescheuer bist, Und nichts verstehst. Dass wir nicht füreinander bestimmt sind. Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Lieb'ich dich mehr Du bist so herrlich überheblich, So wunderbar arrogant. Ganz schön eingebildet, Dafür ernenn ich dich zur Königin von meinem Land. Dafür, dass du ständig lügst, Und die Jungs betrübst, Siehst du verdammt unschuldig aus. Es ist deine Art Ich kann dir nicht böse sein Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Lieb'ich dich mehr. Mit jedem deiner Fehler, Mit jedem deiner Fehler lieb'ich dich, Mit jedem deiner FehlerùMit jedem deiner Fehler Lieb'ich dich Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Lieb'ich dich Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Lieb'ich dich Mit jedem deiner Fehler Mit jedem deiner Fehler Lieb'ich dich What with all this coronavirus stuff, we've all had that feeling that we might not be here much longer. You never know when its going to be YOU. Or, of course, ME. And it has got me thinking ... once this current crisis is over, should I change my mindset and go for the magic 400 ? I'm only a handful of ticks away. I'd given up on that particular form of madness ages ago .... but in this new world of possible imminent death, it changes your perspective. The science isn't on my side ... my grandfather died at 71, my mum died at 72, and my father ,at the age of 52, drove home from work, went upstairs and dropped dead of a heart attack. And I'm 70-and-a-third. Oo-er ! Ouch !!! Crumbs !!!!! And there's been hints from Boris & Co that us 70+ lot might be indoors for years. If I'm going to do it, it'll have to be soon. But think of all the trouble, strife and expense there is in the twitching world. And one of the big motivators for me NOT to rush off after things any more, is that missing the target bird becomes much more disastrous as you get older. It hurts more. You'll see. More than it used to anyway. So there we are... or rather , I am. I'm not normally indecisive. Or am I ? On the plus side .. all those other twitchers you meet are such shiny happy people ... At last .. music time ...... I'm watching 4 Swifts whooshing around out of the office window.
But so far our " local" nesters haven't put in an appearance. And there's tiny drops of rain on the window ... the first for many long hot days. The Significant Otter has been reading " Howard's End" recently, and as it was on the table I had a look. I flicked the pages ... there was a mention of various trees etc, but I, of course, was looking for a bird to turn up. Obviously. Well, there was a bit of excitement on page 6, when " fighting cocks" got a mention, and a bit later, a duck. That's a bit duff, is it not ? It took 6 pages to even mention any sort of bird, and when it did, they were ill-defined and rubbish. I flicked through a bit more ... no birds. As you can guess, I judge a book by what birds are in it and, and I expect to find some pretty sharpish. But this stinker doesn't do either. How it got to its high status I've no idea. I've mentioned this before ... 253-are-there-any-birds-in-it.html ( I've just re-read that, and there's an eerie forecast of our current state at the end ) And I've shown you another way of assessing the bird-worthiness of a book ... 793-that-vital-page-99-1.html 797-that-vital-page-99-2.html So ... seeing as you've all got loads of " stuck-at-home" time on this 47th day of confinement, why not pluck some unread book off your shelves and actually read it, beginning from the beginning, a very good place to start, and see when the first bird swims into view. And it's got to be a proper bird ..not blasted cockerels and undefined "ducks." And if you get to p.20 and there aren't any, chuck it in the " Charity Shop" box. This will save you a lot of valuable time reading a useless, gormless and birdless book. But seeing as all the charity shops are shut, for now .... Did you see how I crept up to that in a nifty, surreptitious sort of way ? Yes, I'm a wily old Hector. After all that, this ... a fine LOL song ..... and you can sing along with it too ... as will I ... Yes, another of my feeble attempts to bring a soupçon of pleasure into our Boris-induced catatonic state.... Way back ( posts 221 and 226) I put a rather odd "twitch" on here ... in two separate chunks ... and for your "Lockdown Entertainment" I thought it would be good to stick them together and bring them into the future .. that's now ... It was Uncle's birthday, and he had planned a celebration. He told the Old Monkey at breakfast that they were going to Owl Springs.The Old Monkey jumped for joy. If there is any treat that he likes, it is this visit. The springs are not up to much, and it's very hard to get a good look at the owl, but all the same there's something fascinating about the place. People come from all round, especially when there is a rumour that the owl is about, but, as a matter of fact, the only person so far who had really seen the owl was the Old Monkey.One wet Friday night when everyone else had gone away he saw it quite clearly for about five minutes. Most people have not even had a glimpse of it, and those who have are notable characters for the rest of their lives. They telephoned to Cowgill for the traction engine. Although it was Uncle's birthday, he had only received a few presents as yet, a packet of ginger-nuts form the Old Monkey, and some mangoes from Butterskin Mute, while Alonzo S. Whitebeard had simply given him a medal that he had picked up in the street.He gave it to Uncle because he thought it was no good, but he was surprised to discover that it had a very useful quality that nobody had expected. Uncle found this out by accident, while they were waiting for the traction engine. It suddenly turned blue when he stepped on to a little mound of earth , then became silver-coloured again when he stepped off it. He had the curiosity to dig the mound away a little, and found, just under the surface, nine half-crowns wrapped in grease-proof paper. It was evidently a buried-treasure detector. Uncle was delighted, for he had often wanted a thing of this kind, but Whitebeard was very depressed, and wished heartily that he had been generous enough to buy Uncle the half-penny typewriter that he had been looking at for days in Cheapman's window. At last they started, Uncle, the Old Monkey And Alonzo S. Whitebeard, with Cowgill as driver and engineer. The road to Owl Springs goes through a deep valley. Lots of people were also travelling there that day, some on foot, some by car, but most by motor coach. A man called Onion Sam gets up these trips during the May to September season. "Hallo ,Uncle !" said Beaver Hateman. " Going up to see the owl ?" " I hope to do so," replied Uncle calmly. " Well, I don't think you will ; I passed Wizard Blenkinsop on the road, and he assured me that the owl would not be seen after ten this morning. It's now half past nine and we shall be there in ten minutes, while you will get there about eleven! So long, Uncle !" Uncle was rather irritated at this speech, but cheered himself up with a second breakfast of coconuts and chocolate ice-cream from an electro-plated bucket. Beaver Hateman was right. It was nearly eleven when they reached the famous Owl Springs. The narrow valley was packed with people, who were walking around, dropping litter and looking at the springs. These springs are disappointing at the first glance, a mere muddy trickle of water coming down between bushes, but they are fascinating all the same, and it seems well worth while going even if you don't see the owl. Halfway up the valley is a large enclosure labelled Trade Exhibition. Uncle was in no hurry, and seeing that there was such a crowd, he thought he might as well visit this first. It was quite a good expedition with a large number of stalls. One was kept by a dull, heavy ox. He appeared to have only one thing on his stall, a box, pink in colour, called BIRTHDAY BOX. Uncle asked the price. " A thousand pounds," replied the ox in a slow, dull voice, "and I won't come down a farthing in my price." There was something about this box that took Uncle's fancy, and though he thought the price high he paid it in clean hundred pound notes. The moment he did so, the ox took from behind the counter a little board marked STALL CLOSED and prepared to leave. [ At this point in the story there's a lot more of that sort of nonsense, including a visit to Cheapman's store, where the Old Monkey bought a lifetime's supply of hay for a shilling, though what use monkeys have for hay I've no idea. He also visited a shop called THE BOOKMAN run by a man who was the son of one Wallaby Bookman, who had married a young woman called Mable The . For obvious reasons, he took up bookselling in later years. He only had twenty books on display, all the same, entitled "The History of Owl Springs." But Uncle had it already. ] ... now back to the story proper ... On their way Nailrod Hateman passed them. " It's all over for the day," he said. " Oh, what time we've had !" I saw the owl myself - looked straight at it for more than an hour !" This was most likely a lie, and they pretended not to hear. A gleam of sun came out, and everything looked rather pretty, in spite of the mass of litter left by the excursionists. Just as they were looking at the thin trickle of muddy water, a wonderful thing happened. From behind a low bush on the left, the owl appeared. He flew straight to a withered twig, and sat there looking at them. Uncle reached for the cine-camera, and took some shots of the owl from different positions. He did not venture to speak for fear that the owl should go. For twenty minutes the owl stayed, minutes filled with rapture. Then it gave a low hoot, preened its feathers, and slowly flew off. They all kept silent for a time. Uncle's face was glowing, and as for the Old Monkey, he swung himself up to the branch of a nearby tree and hung there by his hands and feet. At last they spoke. "Congratulations, sir, " said the Old Monkey. " I always wanted you to see it, and I was always sorry that you weren't there when I had that good look, three years ago." Uncle said nothing for a long time. He was so full of solemn joy. At last he drew a deep breath. "Gratification," he said, " is a poor word to express my feelings at this moment. I am afloat on sea of foaming joy and delight ! For the time being, I will say little, but on many a long winter evening I shall expound to you with suitable words my feelings at this extraordinary event !" " And I shall love to hear you," said the Old Monkey simply. " In the meantime, leave me alone," said Uncle. " I want to travel back quietly, reflecting deeply on this glorious hour, and fixing its details in my memory." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well, wasn't that lovely ! A bit odd, maybe. But I'm sure many of my readers have had a similar experience. Plus ... I'm not at all sure what species of owl it was. By my problem is ..what music could go with that ? .. and here's my answer ... Again, even though I've brought the text down to "very small" , when I publish it the font is ridiculously big .. and that's not all ... it seems EVERY POST on it is equally massive. Do any of you out there know what's going on ? [ It seems to be OK now] There we were, The Significant Otter and me, out in the garden in the cold sunshine, when suddenly she asked me a tricky question...... " Have you rung up any of your birdwatching friends to see how they are getting on?" I knew straight away things were going to go downhill a bit ! The sensible thing to do would have been to say " Yes, of course dearest, and they're all absolutely fine." But, gormless me went for " The Truth" ... always a dangerous line to take in the battle of the sexes. " Er, no " said I, with a slight rising tone on the second word, implying that such a thing had not occurred to me, and never would. The Significant Otter looked at me in a severe and distinctly unimpressed manner. " Well", said she " don't you think it would be a nice thing to do ?" Seeing as I had never rung any of them up, and had no idea where most of them lived, and had no idea at all of any of their phone numbers, and don't even know most of their names even though I've known them for decades and have voyaged hundreds of miles with some of them over the years, I was bit stuck for a reply. And whizzing around in my head was this alien concept of " a nice thing to do." Luckily, a bit of distraction turned up in the shape of a male sparrowhawk circling over the garden. Time to think. " I'll think about it", was my clever ripost , "and anyway they've never rung me up either." " Well what about Mr. G " was her next line of attack ... "you've got his number." " Yes, but he hasn't rung me up, so I don't need to ring him up." I replied. They might , once every three years, ring me up about some local rarity, but they would NEVER ring up to ask me if I was " all right." ...and so it went on ..she's always ringing her friends up, and that's all fine and dandy. And she knows the names and occupations of everyone in our street, and all their kids and pets. But I reckon most men don't. Actually, it would be a bit creepy if they did. But with us males ... Hundreds of years could go by before that would happen. Not in a thousand years ! And I bet most of the people reading this are males as well. My daughter reads it sometimes ... but only to check that I'm having a bath occasionally, and am not covered in porridge. In my experience women are , by and large, kind, caring and sensible. And occasionally, men can be too. When it suits them. But ..what are the prisons full of .... men. Who are having all those fights outside pubs ... men. Who are all those burglars and thieves and murderers ? Who starts all those wars that are raging on and on all over the world ? MEN ! I rest my case. But hold on ! .... surely they have some uses ? Er .... ... and here's the " sing-along-with-Tom" version ... I've mentioned my "3K" quite a lot lately ... mainly because I've been pretty well confined to it over the 42 days of Boris's Lockdown ..but it has just occurred to me that most of you will be wondering what it is.And why. So ..here's what I wrote about it on 8th August 2018 ... post 16 it was. I've updated it in a few places ... About 8 years ago, the Significant Otter broke her foot. Suddenly, my birding activities more or less ground to a halt. It was amazing how much she couldn't do .... and what she could do was very slow. I always needed to be around in case anything went wrong as well. And even after the months of recuperation, she didn't feel she could start driving again, so I ferried her around everywhere for over a year. She's one of those people who has lots of friends ..all over the place. This was pretty awful for both of us. And it collapsed most of my birding activities drastically. But I did a very rational and positive thing. Rather than complaining about not being able to whizz off all over the place in search of birds, I decided to do everything I could within a short distance of where I live. I got out the OS map and drew a 3km radius around my house, to create a unique-to-me personalised "patch". I christened it the "3K." I used a protractor ... not one of those cheapo amateur tractors . It has its advantages . Nobody could do better than me in my unique dinky circle. It was mine and mine alone. That in itself was quite a neat thing! And what's more, I could get around it on foot if I had to. Very handy in the lockdown. I'm lucky enough to live close to an estuary, a river, several ponds and lakes, a big wooded park, a canal, a salt marsh.... and even the area around my house is pretty productive too. We have a "wildish" garden and also a small " orchard" ... a special one with no apple trees ... but it sounds good. I worked "my" 3K avidly ever since ..... far beyond the need to. It was good to be out of the rat-race, and not to be too bothered about distant rarities. After all, I'd seen a hell of a lot of stuff and could hardly complain that I hadn't had a good bash. And now I've gone a stage further. I don't year-list any more. I record the highlights of what I see day by day, but I don't total it all up ... I couldn't tell you what my "year list" is so far this year, nor what it was last year. I just enjoy what I see as I go along. And I have to say, I find it quite relaxing. I suppose nowadays they'd call it downsizing. And in these Lockdown Longeurs it has been almost my only "arena" in which to operate. We'll have the same song as I did back then ... Here's a Kate and Anna McGarrigle song ... and a beautiful one too ... " Petite Annonce" ..... It's called The Rat Race because everyone's Running After Ticks
This morning on Tweet of the Day" it was the wily Water Rail. But the presenter spent most of his time telling us about examining a nest. And how wonderful it was. But my advice is, buster ... don't go up to nests and examine them. There's no need for it. You leave your scent behind. And you tread down a trail to it. Then they get found... and killed ..and eaten. All this "looking for nests" business should have been kicked out decades ago. But it still seems to be going on. And ...remember that thing I wrote about a local birder .. ... who shall be nameless ... flushing loads of snipes off their pool,. just so that they could count them. And he/she does that regularly. Well ... don't. I spoke to the Local Secretary of the organisation that runs the place, and told her about this .. and her reply was " Natural England tells us to do it." Well I say, Natural England can get stuffed. As my regular readers will know, I used to do quite a bit of bird surveying .... but I stopped when I realised that cheating, is rife ..... one I know in my little area cheats, distorts and lies about their survey protocols and results. But there's another problem with those surveys ... ..surveyors can get conflicted about their results. If they're working for an organisation, they're not sure what it "wants". If surveys show that populations are booming, they might then say they can kick out their surveyors .. it's all going well. But if results are bad, they could kick them out for that too. You could hardly blame them for manipulating the figures to "please" said Organisation. And remember ..... not everything that counts gets counted. ...... and not everything that gets counted, counts. A wise reminder of the need to be aware of what we're doing and why. Apart from all that, everything's just dandy. |
AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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