A momentary lapse of reason

"I thought you had stopped twitching?"

I got that a lot at Spurn the other day. Er, yes, well. I'm not staying I've started again, but that bloody Accentor at Spurn called to me for some reason. Very contrary. I've managed to not be arsed nearly all year and consequently not seen some amazing birds, and then when a colourful Dunnock turns up I'm in the car like a shot. As Col put it: "I don't do twitching anymore preachy preachy oh hang on, Sibe what? Oh go on then."

With a frankly ridiculous crowd in the dark, I very quickly realised why perhaps it was that I had 'quit'. Hundreds of people all with the same thought. Must. See. The. Bird. At. All. Costs. A sudden surge to the fence line, like somebody had fired a starting pistol, then the masses sheepishly hauled out of the undergrowth by the local birders. I watched, irritated, from the pavement, and joined the queue that was then formed. This was a million times worse that the Lancey on Shetland, but this is mainland UK twitching in 2016. If you want to see the birds, this is what you sign up to. OK so it was worse than normal, this being the second ever UK record of Siberian Accentor, and the first gettable one without spending upwards of £500 - which more than a few people apparently did last week for the first one on Shetland. Nonetheless I suspect my twitching career could still be in its final throes.

It had calmed down by the afternoon when we went back for seconds, the 1200 or so having been sated, but that early morning stampede was amazing. It reminded me of the Kent Dusky Thrush in terms of the desperation, when will people ever learn? They won't.

Spurn itself was amazing. I've only been a few time before, but today was easily the best. Howard, Sam, Bradders and I were almost overwhelmed by the numbers of birds dropping out of the sky. 6 Woodcock, 15+ Ring Ouzels, 4 Redstart, Black Redstart, Shorelark and Jack Snipe accompanied thousands of Redwings and Robins. Chiffchaffs probably numbered 100, and whilst we didn't see all that was on offer, a Dusky Warbler and another Little Bunting were excellent value. Meanwhile Bean Geese, Brents and White-fronts chugged south as we picked through sheltered spots. A Firecrest in a ditch here, exhausted Goldcrests at our feet there, birds falling out of the sky almost everywhere you looked.

Goldcrest

The Little Bunting was a major tick for Sam, his number one bogey bird after a lifetime's birding. I remember being with him on Scilly as we dipped a one on St Mary's and then another on St Martins. In the intervening seven years he still hadn't bumped into one, so when Bradders and H called one along the path at Sammy's Point it was a special moment that I was glad I was there for. It showed well too, albeit briefly, and then with the number of birders about caused gridlock at the end of the road - we could barely get back to Easington. All in all a rather spectacular days birding, even if we didn't see all of what was there - simply too many people for that. When brigade numbers of green-clad warriors are actively twitching a Shore Lark you know something is very very wrong. 

Little Bunting

Shorelark

So will my twitching career now see a resurgence? I doubt it, but as with many things in life, never say never. I once said I would never eat a chickpea again for instance, but I had one yesterday. So the odd choice bird perhaps, but I can safely say that the herd mentality isn't for me. That said the earnest evening phone calls, the midnight pickup and whispered conversations in the driveway, and then the drive through the night (thanks H!).... well it was like old times, palpable excitement building in the car, adrenalin overcoming tiredness. And of course the journey passed with the sharing of memories, past glories and silly stories in good company. And it's that as much as the bird that often make these days as good as they are. A solo drive and a brief glimpse just wouldn't be the same, it's a shared experience, success or failure. Happily it was a success, as it frequently is. Spare a thought however for the eight birders who haven't seen a Siberian Accentor this year.

Dusky Warbler

Collins first edition

This is a post about birds and birding actually. I know, I was surprised too. Mrs L and I went to Prague at the weekend for a spot of tourism birding. I've never been before, indeed it was a country tick for me (#48 I think, can't seem to add it on Bubo), and very pleasant it was too. I was in a very relaxed frame of mind, other than of course wondering which part of me would next land me in hospital. Too relaxed it soon became apparent, as on Saturday morning I found myself in a museum. I'm not sure how it happened either, I must have let my guard down, a momentary lapse of concentration. But that's all it takes, the ticket was purchased, and we were inside. Before lunch!

I am not a cultural person. I'm not a philistine either, but given the choice of going to a museum or, say, sitting in the sunshine drinking a Pilsner Urquell, you will find me on that cobbled street every time, glass in hand. Nevermind. I am a dutiful husband, and so the museum it was. It was set in an old convent near the river, and the visit seemed to be a mixture of being reverent in empty bits of church, and admiring various bits of religious iconography scattered in less churchy bits. I have seen enough Madonna and children to last a lifetime. Several lifetimes. All very old, all very similar. All very boring. Here's one of them, with added feline interest. In my defence, this was a fake one which was part of a tactile display for blind people, a reproduction of the real thing which was in a room upstairs and which I ignored. Does it still count as sacrilege? Probably. Whatever. Look! The little child is trying to get Snuffi to play with a ball!

Anyway, the real meat of the exhibition other than twenty million basically identical Madonnas and children were a series of paintings of religious scenes. You know, somebody on a Mount of Olives, that kind of thing. On a mound of olives would have been a lot funnier, but the artists probably didn't think of that at the time. Or they did, but would have been killed.... I nearly lost the will to live by about the second room, but then noticed that the [presumably massively bored] painters had frequently included birds in their scenes. I don't recall any of their names, but I'm pretty sure an ancestor of Zetterstrom was amongst them. Just look at this! I mean this is notably better than Fitter and Parslow in many ways. From that moment on I was birding.

Eight hundred years old, but clearly a Goldfinch, a Bullfinch, and a.... Hoopoe of sorts. I went on the hunt for more and found plenty. Now I've not been birding in Israel or wherever the large pile of olives was, but I'm looking forward to going as there are going to be a lot of ticks for me. I've certainly not seen the two species depicted below, but I'll know them when I see them for sure. The first is clearly some kind of Blyth's Reed Warbler, but the ultra-rare hepatic variant that is a very likely AERC split. The second is possibly new to science, an undescribed species of Night Heron is my best guess at this point. See the concentration on its face as it stalks an olive? Actually it just looks bored and depressed. Like I would soon be again.

I continued birding less and less enthusiastically around the museum, finding many more species hidden away in the corners of paintings, but by far my favourite piece of art (before I collapsed and died) involved The Impeturbable Monk. Just look at this for cool, calm and collected! Somebody has just shot him with a bloody great arrow and he hasn't even dropped his book! In fact he has barely noticed. And how about that for an arrow, it's more like a ballista. It should have cut him in two, or at the very least have knocked him backwards by twenty feet, but he is rock hard. This is the Steven Seagal of antiquity.

The next day I found myself in another museum having nodded off again at a crucial moment. This was an exhibition of Asian art from a similar time period, curated in part by the author of the wonderful "The Hare with Amber Eyes", Edmund de Waal, and was much more varied. And much better actually, much of it made the European efforts look childish in comparison. The Italians were carving shoddy wooden statues and painting entirely unrealistic battle scenes whilst the Japanese and Chinese were weaving with silk and making incredible ceramics. Look at this plate! You could sell it via the Sunday supplements even today, and there's not much doubt about the species, Red-crowned Crane. Stonking!

And this pot, or maybe vase (except it was so massive you could have put a tree in it), was exceptionally wonderful, one of a pair that probably stood four feet tall. Covered in fish, Carp and the like, I reckon it wouldn't have looked out of place in Chateau L but I couldn't find a price tag, and in any event we were hand luggage only as I just don't do queuing up in airports these days. I very much enjoyed this exhibition, which took in Turkey eastwards, various flavours of Buddhism, and concentrated mostly on more animate objects that actually would have been useful. Plates, bowls, pots, furniture, screening, storage chests. Like Ikea in many ways, but less spartan and requiring no self-assembly. Lacking in panther display units mind you.

Istanbul

Istanbul is quite some way away from Wanstead, but with very little happening on the bird front this winter, and the Laughing Gull safely on the list, what better than a quick trip away to somewhere I've wanted to explore for a long time. Of course Turkey is so much more varied than Istanbul, and I'd like to venture much further afield, but I am time poor and quite unable to do something like that at the moment. It's a vast country, with incredible diversity of both people and habitat. But for a weekend Istanbul gives at least a flavour, and is very easy to get to. I left work early afternoon on Friday, schlepped over to Heathrow and was hailing a taxi at Ataturk airport by around 10pm in Turkey, a taxi that took me along the Bosphorous and past some amazing mosques. A deep sleep and then the excitement of a new place to see. 

The Blue Mosque. With Panther.

Hagia Sofia

I had chosen to base myself in Sultanahmet, which I guess is what 99% of tourists do. So I found myself looking at the Hagia Sofia by eight in the morning as the city was getting going. It didn't take long to get hassled of course, but I knew it was coming, and they were pleasant about it. The aim of course is to get you to come to their brother's/cousin's/uncle's/friend's shop, there to sell you a hugely overpriced 'Turkish' carpet that has been recently imported from China. I deftly sidestepped all their attentions and spent the morning happily wandering around seeing some incredible architecture. I visited the Blue Mosque which was stunning, if let down by the whiff of a thousand tourist socks an hour, and then the Hagia Sofia a little later which was literally monumental, standing over the centuries as a church and a mosque, and now as a museum. I spent easily a few hours in here admiring the different aspects, as well as people-watching, which was sometimes as interesting as the building itself, particularly this remarkable craze for selfies. Why would you want a photo of you in front of everything? A small panther I can understand.....

From the hip! Possibly the most awesome "selfie candid" I have ever taken.

In the afternoon I hit the Grand Bazaar. The shopkeepers here were of the hard-sell school, but I was having none of it, and plenty of smiles kept me on my way as I trekked through the heaving maze of spice, precious metal, lamps and carpets. It's something I've meant to do in Marrakech as well but have always turned my back on the city and headed to the mountains and the deserts. Next time maybe I'll build in a day. I spent an hour or so in the Bazaar, and emerged with all my possesions intact, and then spend the rest of the day wandering around other areas, including visiting the carpet museum which has some amazing (and not Chinese!) carpets from the centuries. Some are mere fragments now, but the work is incredible. I'm a bit partial to a nice carpet, and it's a great shame that for the most part the places where weaving still happens are not really places that it would be wise to visit at the moment. I'd imagine that Iran would be pretty safe, but it's still low down the list at the moment.

In the evening I went out to a restaurant which offered a Turkish show as you ate, groups of dancers from various parts of the country performing traditional numbers for western dollars, and of course belly dancing. I'd never seen this before, but it really is belly dancing, shaking, shimmering, gyrating, ridiculous muscle control. I've got the belly of course, but none of the skill in controlling it.... 

The next morning I went for a stroll by the shore and looked at Asia. I didn't have the time to cross over, but I enjoyed the harbour a great deal. Like all great cities near water, it becomes central to the way the place works. Just like Hong Kong ferries plied back and forth, tourist sight-seeing boats chugged along, and real ships - tankers and freight carriers - stayed out in the middle taking a direct line to the Black Sea. Sunday morning on Galata Bridge is fishing time, and I spent ages on the bridge watching this social activity take place, seemingly without a fish being caught. It could be that fish are completely secondary, and it's more of a place to go chat, smoke and pass the time - a bit like birding can sometime be. Tea-sellers moved up and down the bridge, paralleled by Sandwich Terns and Gulls over the water.

Right, time for shopping. Having avoided spending a dime the previous day and instead taken notes of where the genuine merchants were I went back to just two shops. In one I bought an old Kilim from Western Anatolia, a small dowry square with spider motifs in blues, reds and whites, and in the other I bought some incredibly fluffy cotton towels and a throw. Job done, I enjoyed a kebab and some tea while watching the world go by, and then went back to the airport. 

Wanstead's most attractive Woodpigeon

Came across an unbelievably gorgeous Woodpigeon today. I fear its beauty hasn't much longer to shine though, there is something not quite right with its tail.... It's not every day that a Woodpigeon makes you involuntarily gag, but that's what happened when I was photographing Mistle Thrushes and it strayed into my viewfinder. I wonder what on earth has happened to it? It wasn't particularly alert, not that many are I suppose, but this one appeared to have significantly dulled reactions. Horrible, poor thing.

Do you think it looks better from the left....

....or from the right?

In other news, I saw a Nuthatch today in Reservoir Wood, and then again by Heronry. Nuthatch is an inexplicably rare bird in Wanstead given the lovely habitat that exists in the Park. There must be something I am missing, certainly I can't hope to understand what makes Nutchatches tick, but I've been to lots of places that appear at least superficially to be identical, and they are crawling with Nuthatches. I've seen four in Wanstead in eight years, not a very convincing total, so let's hope that they are on the way back. Not much else going on across the patch, fairly quiet in comparison with recent days. I guess this is the problem with excellence; it becomes difficult to maintain. A Little Egret flying west across the Flats was a patch tick though, seen plenty in the Park but none here before, so most pleasing. I kind of punched the air, but not really as I was standing next to Barry and he doesn't need to know what a saddo I am.

Directions to this crippling mega on the Wiki

Talking of saddos, I am getting drawn in to a handbagging match on the London bird sightings page. I would have done better to have stayed out of it, it's like Birdforum all over again, so a huge 'fail' on my part. In a nutshell a loud-mouthed American has turned up and loves the sound of his own typing. Me too, that's probably why it's all going wrong - but I have a blog for my creative output. He doesn't, so he just uses the blog, sorry I mean sightings page, to tell London birders where they might be so lucky as to see a Chiffchaff or other scarce bird, which branch of a tree it is in, and what the weather is like. I put it down to over-enthusiam, severe obstinance, and cultural differences. I must be overly-traditional, preferring a sightings page to concisely summarise what birds are to be found across the capital. My opinion means nothing though, and unfortunately he has become a cause celebre for seemingly masses of disenfranchised birders who need help with finding Chiffchaffs and other rare breeding birds, and so I now find myself somewhat marginalised and accused of pedantry. Such as shame, as I'm actually right, but that doesn't count. I suspect I'm going to get bored of an editing war long before this guy and his groupies do, and sarcasm has no effect either. Even a great joke about Garden Warblers being borin' went completely over their heads, an indication that there is no more I can do. So, completely powerless in the face of a mounting storm of verbal diahorrea that is swamping what used to be quite an easy to use resource, I'm giving up. Given my heritage it pains me to say that I hope his visa is only temporary. If he ever does see the light and start a blog though, I'm going to be the first follower, the style is, is, well, words fail me if the truth be told.

Oh, and yes, I did get assaulted by a dog on the patch today, just as I knew I would. Once again it was my fault (camera), and it improved my already great mood massively.

And breathe......

Dealing with Fame

Today was my big day. The day I broke into television. I’m not counting the dead birds on Wanstead Flats, that was hardly the grand entrance I wanted. No, today is where it is all going to start. I don’t yet know what it is going to be called, but I believe the working title is Wansteadbirderwatch.

I arrived at the London Wetland Centre and was met at the entrance by no less than Sir Peter Scott. Carrying on past the statue, I ended up in a room at the top of the visitor centre where Simon King was waiting for me. He was of course absolutely thrilled to meet me, though true professional that he is, he managed to mostly conceal his utter delight and acted perfectly normally. Like it was something he did everyday. As if! I did my bit of course, putting him at ease by pretending to be totally amazed at meeting him, a bit of fawning and so on. I think it worked! Eventually they managed to drag him away from me, and so I was able to get on with my program-making. Honestly, the people I have to deal with…

Arriving on the set of Wansteadbirderwatch, the cameraman and sound guy were both ready and waiting. Unfortunately Air Traffic Control had been unable to agree to my request that all Heathrow-bound planes divert to Gatwick for the day, so the filming was interrupted about every forty-five seconds by the roar of jet engines. This is why my thirty second segment took fifty-five takes, rather than any other reason such as gross incompetence. Just wait until I get hold of Willie Walsh. Throw in every school child in west London and a few aimless plastic duck-strokers, and it took forever and we were unable to move onto the main segment of me expounding my thoughts on twitching and dog-ownership levels in the southeast. Nevermind, I’m sure that will be the next part to get made just as soon as I have a chance to get back there.

I ambled back to the visitor centre in the company of Sula, a local birder and blog acolyte, where it was no surprise that Simon was hanging around waiting for me. I put him out of his misery and sat down opposite him at a table, and proceeded to have a good old chat about many things. Mainly about travel and Shetland, which he wanted to know all about as I think he is planning a trip there soon. Hopefully I was able to pass on a few tips.

And that was it, I bade my farewells and headed back to my limo. It’s a long red one, I don’t believe in black. Although I had told my driver what time I was finishing, he must have misheard, because he was between twelve and fifteen minutes late.

I’m back home now, and I have to say that cooking dinner and dealing with squabbling children is a bit of a come-down after my day of televisual feast-making. Soon though I expect that to be a thing of the past, and my personal assistant(s) can fetch the children and bring them to the trailer if I’m on set....

PS Anyone who takes this post the slightest bit seriously needs to get out more. Out against a wall to be precise, where they should arrange for someone to then shoot them.

Hot Grebe Porn: Mrs Grebe does Wanstead IV

Mrs Grebe's nest has broken. What to do? Yes, that's right, invite a workman in to fix it. Let's call him Mr Grebe.

Here he comes now, looking muscle-bound yet sly.

Mrs Grebe answers the door. She is dressed wholly inappropriately. Oh dear, can you believe it, she appears to have dropped something. She bends down to pick it up. Provocatively.

Mr Grebe feigns no interest. He is here only to fix the nest remember.

Mrs Grebe reveals she is feeling really horny, despite not being Slavonian. Mr Grebe can resist no longer, and approaches Mrs Grebe. From behind, obviously.

The money shot.

Mrs Grebe pretends to be shocked at what has happened.

He's behind you! Possibly. Or possibly not. Depends if you look or not.

Oh no he isn't! Yes, it's Panto season. We went yesterday, courtesy of the Grandparentals in Cambridge. I had been dreading it. Slapstick humour, pathetic jokes, screaming children, and someone out of Eastenders - I have all that at home, apart from Bianca. In the event it was superb - what I hadn't reckoned on was it being a Footlights production - Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Where else but Cambridge would you get a panto that mentions Schrodinger's Cat AND gets a laugh? From start to finish it was a cut above, and entirely put together by and starring students. It was so good that I strongly suspect that they have not been concentrating on their academic studies a great deal, but then presumably this is where having two brains each really comes into its own. The villain and the panto dame (a bloke, naturally) were the stars of the show, and frankly if we don't see them again in some guise I'll be amazed - the list of Footlights alumni is long and distinguished.

Anyway, enough cultural stuff, back to birding. And getting wet. The weather today has been awful, but being hardy and tough I ventured out into the pre-dawn. Before I had even got to the Flats I was assaulted by hailstones and thunder, and my first proper soaking occured about ten minutes into my [unsuccessful] hunt for Woodcock. I got diverted by a boat-load of gulls on the field west of Lakehouse Road, including a pesky large-and-dark-looking Lesser Black-backed Gull that gave me the run-around before revealing its true identity. Overall I counted over 400 Common Gulls, over 300 Black-headed Gulls, 77 Lesser Black-backs, and 17 Herring Gulls. Amazingly there wasn't a single rarer gull in there. Only a matter of time before I get a Med surely? All this counting took a long time, during which I got wet again, as horizontal rain swept across the playing fields. At least it kept the gulls in one place. I partially dried out on the way to the Park, and bumped into Stuart by Heronry Pond. He too was looking wet. The Tea Hut of Happiness was disappointingly closed, so no fix there. A dog-walker asked us if we were twitching something. As if! I am a patch-worker. He was only wondering, he said, as he had seen a load of people up at the top car park carrying scopes and everything. Eh? A twitch? In Wanstead? What the? We hurried up there as fast as our little legs could carry us and sure enough we found a large group of birders. Not a twitch, but an ELBF guided walk in Wanstead Park looking for Lesser Spots. It was being led by Roy, and he had already scored with a flock of 30 Redpoll sp in the southern corner of Warren Wood - easily the most I have ever heard reported here. Maybe there was a twitch on after all! We were saved this ignominy by the Redpolls having the good grace to fly over our heads as we were stood there chatting. Most impressive. They didn't linger so I didn't get to check them, and I am being good by calling them Redpoll sp. No doubt they were all exilipes. It rained again just after this.

A brief break in the weather

We carried on to the Basin to check for rare waterfowl, but all the sawbills had been replaced with Coots. At this point we got wet yet again. I was OK actually, fully kitted out in wellies, waterproof trousies and an extremely waterproof jacket designed for fishing, but Stuart has a more cavalier attitude to repelling water. He doesn't bother doing his coat up, he doesn't wear a hat (instead water just bounces off his head), and one of his boots has recently developed a leak. None of this puts him off in the slightest, he is unstoppable. A birding machine. Hunger was setting in, but I decided that one last check of Reservoir Wood might pay dividends as the sun had decided to come out. Sure enough, not long into the wood and I heard the piping call behing us. A female Firecrest flitted out of a holly and proceeded to bounce around the understorey giving good views. A bit of quality pishing sent her, and we think the male as well, beserk, and for two minutes we were captivated by a holly emanating with Firecrest calls, with occasional glimpses of the bird, before it or they got bored and zoomed off somewhere else. Got the Coal Tit in with the Long-tails as well, so a sucessful final roll of the dice. On the way home the heavens opened.

I appeared on my doorstep at around 11 doing my best impression of a drowned rat, collected scope, banana and orange, and headed off to Rainham to see if I couldn't repeat the Firecrest experience with the Serin. Halfway down Coldharbour Lane I spotted Hawky, so I stopped to say hello. He had just found a Dartford Warbler with his Dad, Roger. I wasn't twitching it, I was stopping to say "Hi". Moments later a White Van screeched up, performed a dodgy parking maneuvre, and out jumped Shaun and Monkey, twitchers extraordinaire. Shaun had been out early working his patch in a dedicated manner, and after four hours of hard graft for little reward had decided to give Rainham a crack. Oh no, my mistake, he had been lazing around in bed, listening to the sound of the rain on the windows and drinking tea, with his phone switched off in case work called. Monkey too had been busy working his patch. Oh no wait, silly me again... Pleasantries were exchanged about Hawky's Wren, the piss was taken - a lot, as is customary, and as sometimes occurs on this blog -, and then a Dartford called and popped up, just as we all knew it would. Another cracking find - expect a stunning pic on his blog later. Hawky and I may try and do a yearlist for Rainham next year. If we do, I fully expect him to whoop ass.

Monkey switched cars and he & I went to the Serin mound; I think Shaunboy went back to bed, and Hawkins pere et fils went home for lunch. We gave the Serin at least ten minutes, and then got bored. Monkey went home to bed, and I may have had a small and slightly illegal excursion up on the tip in search of Red-legged Partridge and Corn Bunting, neither of which I may not have found, but I might have got wet again. Got a Water Pipit on the foreshore near the barges but that was the best I could do. By this time Bradders had turned up and jammed in on both Serin immediately. Curses! Or should that be "Booooo! Hisssss!!"? I joined him on the path again, got rained on AGAIN, and in a brief (and final) period of sunshine, finally laid eyes on one or both Serin on the slope in front of Wennington. Got back home at three-ish, highly bedraggled, and had a nice cup of tea. A proper day of birding, and a couple of heard-only's converted to proper ticks. I did draw a Barred Warbler by the way, and a Wigeon, neither of which turned up, so the Birding Gods are clearly otherwise engaged.

Another brief break in the weather

Finally, some of you may have noticed a post entitled "London Listing" which appeared briefly here on Friday. Some of you may have been lucky enough to read it. If you did, Shhhh, don't say anything, it will reappear. It was a good one, topical, and full of gags at the expense of cheats people whose lists appear not quite whiter than white, but I have taken it down again. Things are afoot, and for now I must remain silent on the matter. Just remember kids, Norfolk is not in London.