One-track

I am becoming boring, and it is annoying me. I have four things in my life - my family (important to mention that first, no end of trouble if I leave it until last!), birds, photos (of birds), and work. Nobody wants to hear about the latter, but it dominates my life so comprehensively that it leaves far less time for any of the former. Long-term acolytes may recall that when I started this blog in 2009 I got made redundant almost immediately. Surely a coincidence, but it did mean that all of sudden life became a lot more interesting. Rather than the grim darkness of Canary Wharf and the ongoing world finanical implosion, you were treated hem hem to my new struggles with washing, buying food and attempting to cook it, potty training, and other daily examples of domestic martyrdom. In between you got to know a bit about my three precious charges, and very occasionally some birding featured.

My domestic days are behind me - as was always agreed (under duress), as soon as my youngest started school, I had to go back. No life of leisure for me, so now, and indeed for the past year, I have been back in my ancestral home of E14. The consequence of this is that I now have nothing to write about, or so it seems to me. Except birds. Bo-ring birds. But hang on a minute, isn't that what I started this blog to witter about? Wanstead Birder, not Wanstead Domestic God. Indeed. It was always supposed to be about the birds, not the minutae of my life. I mean who cares about that other than me? Perhaps not even me actually. As it happens though, I found it much easier to write about various household disasters and what silly things the kids have done recently than I did to write about what birds could be found in Wanstead. In short, I felt - and feel - that writing about my ineptitude was much more interesting than writing about birds. Birds aren't funny. Birds aren't humourous. They appeal to many people for sure, but there's only so much you can say about patch Skylarks. On the other hand, my domestic foul-ups were essentially infinite, and kids will surprise you every day of the week.

At the moment I get up, I go to work and crush rocks for several hours, and I return home in a bad mood and drink wine to soothe my shattered nerves. I repeat this for five days a week, albeit with some school runs and refereeing of offspring thrown in. Then for two days, if I can, I go out and blitz our poor feathered friends with a camera. In other words, I have very little to say. In the dare I say it 'good old days', you got to hear about trying to find an oven shelf online, boozing dollies, food shopping for cretins, and Grebe porn. Today you get to hear about what ISO speed I used.

So what can be done? Well, pack it in I suppose, but all bloggers that I have known to pack it in inevitably come to regret the rash "delete all" decision of their intemperate former selves, and come slinking back, and no doubt that would happen to me too. So that's out. Blog less frequently? Perhaps - in one of my first ever posts, I counselled myself to do just that, and have steadfastly ignored this advice for almost exactly four years. I have verbal diahorrea, and there is no known cure. I enjoy it; you suffer it - a tried-and-tested formula. I know, what about seek inspiration, write about stuff I've not written about before? Eh, what? No, I couldn't do that. I need to rant about dog walkers, post Daily Mail tribute articles, moan about work, and eulogise about the patch. And Wheatears. Branch out? Madness!

Not long now.....

So I have no answers, except to think more about maintaining variety, indeed perhaps return to the minutae of life, as it is from there that all variety stems. Not necessarily mine either, which could get dull fast. I'm always hearing little snippets on the radio, noticing absurd behaviour, seeing some scene or other than gets me cogitating. I occasionally think "oh, that would make a good piece", and then do precisely nothing about it and continue dreaming about optics past, present, and - mostly - future. I have somewhat of a one-track mind, I just need to make sure I don't have too much of a one-track blog.

By the way, 1600 is my most-used speed at present.

The Proof is in the Clouds

Bradders put me onto this, which is a lot of fun, and also proof positive that this blog is (and always has been) about Wanstead. No trips, no twitching, no nonsense, just Wanstead. Kind of. This is a cloud, in the shape of a swan, made of the predominant themes from this blog over the month of January. You will note that "Wanstead" features heavily, just as it should. As does "Birding". Search for Tagxedo on the web if you want to do something similar. It also makes for a remarkably easy yet mildly interesting filler post if you have nothing else to say.

Wanstead Birding?

I am in seach of a title, a new blog is in the offing. You cannot have failed to notice that this blog very occasionally strays from being about birds and Wanstead. I like it that way, were I to restrict it to being solely about what I saw out of the window it would get pretty dull pretty quickly. You may argue that it is aleady pretty dull, and I would agree that yes, sometimes it is. Unbelievably, there are days when absolutely and precisely nothing occurs in my life. I wake up, nothing happens all day, and I go to bed again. And if you're very unlucky, I fail to follow my own advice (and that of Sir Humphrey) which is that if you have nothing to say, say nothing. Do not blog for the sake of it.

Anyhow, a new blog. A blog about birds in Wanstead. What has been seen, what can you expect to see, where is good. Birds, and only birds. But not only me, no. Multi-author - all the rage these days. Yes, the idea, and the hope, is that the birders in Wanstead, of which I am but one, will all contribute to this new blog. And let's face it. some of them go birding here a whole lot more than I do. I haven't mentioned it to all of them yet, but they make take it up or leave it entirely as they wish, but at least one of them thinks that it could be a good plan. The idea is also that it won't just be lists of sightings, as that would just be boring. "I went here and I saw this" becomes turgid very quickly, hence why my blog strays a bit. Hopefully it will be a place where patch-workers can express themselves, but where we can also all keep track of what is going on with the bird life of our area. Photos, good or bad, observations, important or banal, birds, common or monster. It can all go in.

This blog, the one you're reading now, won't stop, and won't change. You can continue to visit for the very latest tips in top-class parenting, for up-to-the-minute hypocrisy, and hints on how to attain domestic godliness. You can also continue to expect far more photos of birds than are necessary, boring anecdotes, my thoughts on hats, my physical well-being (or otherwise), and, heaven forbid, tales from the workplace. There is simply no way to stop me writing - unless you have a small mechanical digger and a penchant for copper.

What I need now is a name. It needs to be sufficiently distinct from Wanstead Birder so that people won't confuse the two and get upset when they can't find my latest thoughts on dusting,  and yet sufficiently inclusive of the terms Wanstead and Birds such that people who are genuinely interested in those two things in the same phrase will find it and read it. 

Anyone got any ideas? The 'postcard' is below.

Not sure really. Many things.

"It doesn't take a year to learn how to do washing if you actually concentrate"

A direct quote from Mrs L only recently, and rather damning. As a result of Lesser Kestrels, Ring Ouzels and suchlike, I've done very little washing in the last two weeks. When this was noticed by my beloved, I tried to deflect the inevitable criticism by saying it was too difficult, and that the additional complexity arising from the amount of wool in the house meant it wasn't fair. It fell on deaf ears, and I fear I have lost some BPs. The washing situation is now resolved, no thanks to me I might add, but really I could have done better. The silly season has not even started yet, and already I'm failing in my basic duties. Really I should spend the hours of darkness when no birds are visible doing all of this stuff, thus leaving the days clear, but then I wouldn't be able to sit in front of the computer for hours and hours every evening. This is a real problem.

Yes, blogging takes time, even this one. One of my favourite reads, Not Quite Scilly, has unexpectedly wound up, citing too much time as one of the reasons. This is a great shame. The other reason, if I understand him right, is a fear of becoming stale and repetitive after two years blogging. Luckily, there is no chance of that here! Perish the thought! No, here you are treated to constant innovation, birdy talk of a varied and stimulating nature, and top parenting tips. If I ever start to detail the minutae of my domestic trials, or post endless photos of mis-identified Gulls, that's when you need to start worrying.

Of course, that would never happen, but believe it or not, writing this does take time. Sometimes of course I just bash it out - though you would never be able to tell - but it can also be more involved on occasion. You are able to write for as long as you want, there is no word limit. Blogging does not encourage thrift or thought. If I felt so inclined, I could just waffle on and on for ages and ages, rather than carefully craft a post of just the right pace and length. Editing? What's that? Writing that recent article for Birdwatch magazine was one of the hardest things I have done for a long time. I was restricted to 750 words. 750?! That's nothing! By the time I have got to 750 words on here, I may have a vague idea of what the post is going to be about, but really I'm just getting warmed up. So to be all wrapped up, not a chance! After my first pass, I was on about 1600 words, every one critical. I wept as I deleted whole paragraphs....

All blog posts need a photo, even a filler. Believe it or not, it does not even need to be related in any way to the subject of the post. No, it doesn't matter. Just insert any old picture and you're done. Like this Reed Bunting for instance. You will not find any mention of a Reed Bunting today, but somehow, it just works. I have no idea how.

So, to Wanstead, which is the whole point of this blog. The bird death saga rumbles on. The stupidity of the local populace continues to beggar belief. I've seen families walking past the "Biohazard" signs and stepping over the high-viz tape to go and feed the ducks by the lake shore. Fail. The Corporation had to install proper security fencing to stop them. Personally I'd have let Darwinism take it's course, but there you go. The latest news is that the test results are back. The poison was an agricultural pesticide used to control fungus and insects, typically by food producers. I may have the wrong end of the stick, but it could be that the people involved were not looking to kill off the local corvid population, but instead had just wanted to get rid of this stuff and so had left it on top of a bin.... In other words, idiocy, rather than malice. The poison may even have been in that margarine tub. I had thought that somebody had stumbled across the dead birds before me, and had put as many as they could in the tub and left it visible for the Forest Keepers to deal with. But who knows, this is all idle speculation. Two local men were arrested, and were bailed until the end of April, so we will no doubt find out more then. The good news is that the area is now safe, and there is no further risk to either wildlife or people, even stupid ones. The even better news is that the car-park remains closed - long may that remain the case.

Mrs L banned me from going out today. This was a great shame as the Pallid Swift in Suffok was showing very well all morning. I would very much have liked to have seen a Swift that to all intents and pusposes looks exactly like a normal Swift, except, well, less browny. And she claims not to understand twitching! Honestly.

I managed to get some birding in though, employing extreme cunning. Today is the first day of the holidays, and by 10am Muffin was climbing the walls. I altruistically voluteered to go and exercise him on Wanstead Flats with a football. And binoculars. Shhhhhhh. There were Chiffchaffs everywhere, a few singing Blackcaps, and a single Willow Warbler. Most of the time I had my eyes on the sky though, hoping to see a Swift, even a boring paleish one. Wouldn't that have been something?! I didn't get any hirundines either, though Tim and Stuart had a Sand Martin over Heronry. No matter, plenty of time left to get one of those.

Right, this post is now the perfect length, and has reached it's natural conclusion. Satisfied, I can stop. This has nothing to do with dinner being ready in twenty minutes and the need to peel carrots. Wanstead Birder - Uncompromising.

Technological wizardry

In another amazing development I can now twitter, or tweet, or whatever the latest ridiculous verb to enter the lexicon is. No doubt this is like, soooo last year, but I am over thirty and come to most parties beyond fashionably late.

So for all those little pointless snippets which don't in themselves justify an entire post, now I can just send a text, hurrah! I can bore you about the Flats, from the Flats. As a blog I follow puts it: tedium as it happens, when it happens. If it ever gets too exciting to cope with, just let me know, and I will tone it down. It should appear over to the right somewhere. Bear in mind it costs me money to send a text, so the more of you read it the cheaper it becomes. That doesn't work does it? No.

In other exciting developments:

- The Goldeneye was refound by Nick a mere 100 yards from where it was. Boy, I checked thoroughly. Anyway, happy days, it is still here, awaiting my arrival on January 1st.
- The Christmas Tree has lights, but is still shedding faster than an Afghan.
- The flock of Lesser Redpolls is still bouncing around, and I was able to text Tim, at work, that they were quite close to his garden, which no doubt pleased him.

Now you see, all the above points would have been perfect Twitter material. Things that nobody other than me cares about or needs to know about. Next time. I just wanted to formally announce that the boredom factor has taken a technological step forward.

"Tweet!"

Welcome to Wanstead

I have just noticed that I have gained another follower, or Acolyte as I prefer you to be known. Hello! There are now 12 Acolytes, how very symbolic. I think I need another one before I get carried away. The odd thing about the Acolytes is that I have only met one of them, once. Of you. Perhaps stick to the third person, easier. So somehow, and bizarrely to say the least, a minimum of twelve people, eleven of whom I have not met, have found their way to this page. Plus Mrs L, so thirteen. She isn't a follower, that would just be wrong. If anything I follow her. Round the house usually. Anyhow, I myself am a follower of various web logs, and I have yet to discover what being one actually gets me. Party invites? Special Offers of some description? Not happened yet. Perhaps there is some page on Blogger, as yet undiscovered, that will act like a links page of people I follow, so I can waste no time in getting to the next scintillating installment? Or maybe I could just link to the ones I really like, as I already do. Is that somehow different?

So, dear readers, welcome to Wanstead. If this is the first time you have heard me make mention of Wanstead, you are forgiven. [To the new Acolyte, I wouldn't bother reading any of the historic stuff, barely any of it is about birding in Wanstead. If that is what you came here for of course. Though if that were true, I suspect I would have no followers at all, so perhaps you just came for the frivolity and tales of domestic hardship? Read on.]

So Wanstead. What is now known as Wanstead (from the Anglo Saxon "Wen", a small hill, and "Stede", meaning a settlement) once formed the extensive and manicured grounds of Wanstead House, until it was demolished in the 19th century. The owner, one William Wellesley-Long, was somewhat of a gambler, and after losing his fortune on VIIIVIIIVIII.com, had to sell the house - literally, brick by brick. It is thought that there has been a settlement here since Roman times, and it graduated from something small, getting larger and larger, until at one stage, around 1500, it became a royal hunting lodge used by Henry VIII. It spent the next couple of hundred years being passed in ownership between the Church, Crown and the nobility - sometimes the whole place just got given as a present from whoever owned it to one of their favoured ones. Acolytes, if you will, though don't be getting any ideas. Finally in 1673 the then Manor was purchased by Sir Josiah Child, governer of the East India Company, and it was he who laid out the various ponds that I find birds on today. In 1715, a descendant had a monumental palace built here, to rival Versailles, and this is the one that got taken down and sold a hundred years later. Only the gateposts remain, at the junction of Overton Drive, and the stable block is now the Golf Club. The house itself was on what is now the course, no idea which hole. Post the bankruptcy, the land was eventually sold to the Corporation of London, who still own it today. So there you go, a potted history, and now you don't need to read Wikipedia like I did.

Today Wanstead is basically suburbia, but with more green spaces than might normally be expected for Zone 3. Which is why it is so excellent for birding, and why it is therefore poor that it has taken me nearly five years to reach 100 species. Stuart, showing me up for the dilettante that I am, has lived here for about nine months and has already racked up a few more than that. If you ever come and visit, please don't find something I haven't seen, as that would really look bad.


Right, I am off to do the vacuuming. The house is a total tip, it is almost embarrassing except I am beyond that. I won't be inviting Shaun round, I couldn't face it. He would feel awkward too I expect. In the good old days we used to have a cleaner who would come on a Friday, so the house would be all nice for the weekend. That cleaner is now me, and I am a poor, though cheaper, substitute. I also need to clean all the windows as they have not been done in four years, and despite my commitment to damp-dusting, the dust levels are just out of control. Where does it all come from? So, this afternoon, after I have returned from the school run of course, I will be a whirlwind of domestic activity, a bit like the Cat in the Hat, shifting dirt from one location to the next, except I have no voom. I am not looking forward to it, and there is a stack load to do. So why, you ask, am I wasting my time writing an inconsequential blog post? No idea. Call it procrastination.

Must write something, must write something, must write someth....

Yesterday evening I looked at this page for the first time in about a week, and discovered that all the blogs I follow (that growing list on the right) had blogged very recently, and in some cases had blogged several times. I realised I had not informed the world wide web what had been happening in the Lethbridge household for quite a few days, and hastily (could you guess?) put together a post that neatly summed up the intervening period. Phew, well thats done for another few days. Then this morning another quick check and a few of them have been at it again, and all of a sudden the pressure is on again!

Now hang on a minute. I am not a slave to the web, as this post at 8.52am on a Tuesday clearly demonstrates. I don't feel the need to bung something up just to satisfy the masses (ha ha). And I am not obsessed by statcounter. No no. Talking of which, after I linked to that Belgian Waffle blog (probably the most productive of the ones I read, the volume of output is insane, somebody should take her computer away) I immediately got a massive increase in hits from all around the globe. Now as you know, Wanstead (remember Wanstead? This is a blog about Wanstead), is a pretty fab and exciting place, especially on the birding front, but global appeal? Hmmm. A bit of digging and I discover that about 90% of visitors are coming from the Waffle-blog. Huh? I am amazed to find out that it has taken a mere 24 hours for the author of said Waffle-blog to discover I have linked to her site, twittered (TM) about it, and hey presto I have a stream of web-savvy housewives visiting Wanstead Birder. Sadly none of them got in contact, and being confronted with a post about insects rather than birds most of them have never visited again. Hence the pink brush photo; it is all part of my strategy of global appeal and weboland domination.

Er I appear to have been side-tracked. I was going to talk about the urge to blog. I told myself this would never happen. As Sir Humphrey said, if you have nothing to say, say nothing. Sound advice. I'd be interested to know if this has happened to other people? I was very clear at the outset; it was just a bit of fun, a place to bung up the odd photo, a way to take the piss out of my mates, and latterly, being unemployed, a way in which to keep the grey matter active and raise my intellectual level away from In the Night Garden. Six months in, I'm still working on the last point, but my personal experience is that this blog has become slightly more than what it was supposed to be. I mean, I walk round the house looking for things to take pictures of. Like socks. When I'm out and about, I have half an eye on what might make an interesting photo. I have driven past Cock Lane near Broxbourne Woods three times now without stopping - my powers of resistance are immense! Thank God the birding is about to pick up, I might not have been able to hold off much longer. So why might this be? About five of my mates read it. Mrs L reads it, just to check. I think members of my family may surreptitiously read it, but are too polite to say anything. Some other London birders who I don't know read it. And briefly, about 350 bored women from around the world read it. How on earth should this change my outlook on how I go about this blog? Were the paps outside yesterday when I took the recycling out? No they were not. So I just need to relax and remember that it is all just a spot of fun for my own amusement.

I also need to remember that it was supposed to be about birding in Wanstead. To be fair there is quite a lot about Wanstead, albeit it a certain house in Wanstead. Frankly though, it could be anywhere. I mean, does anyone who reads this actually think they now know more about Wanstead than they did before? I very much doubt it. Do they know more about birding? Exactly. I need to get back on track, or else change the title of this blog to Not Birding in Wanstead (although I am terrified of what that might do to statcounter.) Maybe a post with some interesting facts about the borough first....

Oh and contrary to the last post, I have been out. I twitched a Red-backed Shrike in Sussex. Although I told myself it was because it was a male (and absolutely stunning it was too), secretly it was so that I could go one ahead of Bradders in the year-listing stakes. This must rankle him as he sits at his desk during the week, and sure enough this weekend he went ahead again, and phoned me approximately 0.2 nanoseconds after he had nailed the Great White Egret at Southwold to tell me so. There you go, bird content.

Interestingly Bradders hasn't posted anything on his blog for two weeks. Sensible chap. I wonder how he is feeling though?

TTFN