Ooops I did it again. Is that the hip way to say it? No? Oh well. You will have noticed that I have started blogging again. It may or may not be short-lived, the frequent posts recently have been saved up for a while and I could run out of material and have to revert to birds. But fear not, content is assured as I have fallen over again. This time on the way to work, I slipped in a very wet Jubilee Line carriage and fell heavily (naturally). Heartening to see that the usual stony-faced commuters leaped to my assistance - this is what it takes, but getting me back up on my feet was very much appreciated.
By the time I got to work my hand hurt like hell, so I decided to have it checked out. One of the benefits of a job like mine is the various support networks that exist. I've been using them a fair bit recently, so the call centre staff felt like old friends when I spoke to them about the latest ailment. A quick visit to the in-house med guys and I was on my way for an x-ray, just around the corner. I was the only patient and soon got to see this.
At first I thought I had shattered my wrist into six pieces as I know nothing whatsoever about anatomy, but it's actually supposed to be like that. No, the issue is slightly above that, near the One Ring. I've already forgotten what it's called but it has snapped and is strongly suggestive of a being a total pain the arse for many weeks. No wonder it hurts.
I spent the afternoon in A&E at Whipps Cross where it has been determined that somebody specialised in complicated hand fractures needs to have a go at it as it isn't entirely straightforward. I am hoping it can be manipulated back into place rather than resorting to surgery, but let's see. I have a temporary cast until Friday when I see the next people which means I am no closer to getting it fixed at this point. What this means for my weekend of photographing waders on New York beaches is anyone's guess, but I am nothing if not bloody-minded and intend on going anyway. I was intending on hand-holding, but it could be that the tripod gets an outing. Bugger, as they say.
I let my colleagues know the state of play, and they helpfully commented that I'd be sorted for any upcoming falconry displays. They know me too well, and guessed my response. I'll fire them all when I get back in tomorrow. So this evening has not gone entirely to plan, but I did manage to pack up a few things and repot a couple of Aloes. Mainly I am just pissed off. I have spent a lot of time in hospitals recently and could have done without this. I believe in 'what is' however, so we shall see what comes of it. For now, FFS.
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| Black Hawk |
If you were hoping that this might be about birds, hope again. I am afraid that once more I have virtually nothing to say. This has never stopped me before, and won't stop me in the future. If you want proper entertainment, I suggest you visit here, which is altogether a lot more fun. If you look very carefully at the very end, I actually feature, which was somewhat of a surprise, but there you go. If you put yourself out there to a certain extent, this is what can happen. Be warned kids. And grip, don't dip, obviously.
Er, where was I? Ah yes, no birding. So, in lieu of actually leaving the house, I did a spot of tidying. The object of my affections this time around was the big cupboard under the stairs, which over time has degenerated into a repository for stuff we no longer wish to see around the house. I pulled the whole lot out, recyled masses of it, went to the dump with a pile more, and shoved what was left back in. In doing so, I found these.
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Because I'm really really cool and well-adjusted. I don't actually have a good answer, or indeed any answer. I think I once harboured designs of doing something artistic with them, but that never happened and it's now getting to the stage where a Tern raft isn't totally out of the question. As a displacement activity, rummaging through a mountain of corks proved pretty good. Much better than cleaning at any rate. I didn't count them, out of deference to my doctor. And anyway, Mrs L is equally culpable. Or maybe a third culpable - that's the usual consumption ratio round here. Looking at this enormous pile, it's hard not to feel very very unhealthy indeed. No, I didn't go for a run today, it was raining.
Whilst poking through them it occured to me that this was very much June July material, especially the wettest and most bird-free July since 1682. By far the majority of the corks say "Mis en bouteille a la propriete", which is posh-speak for saying that the wine was bottled at the same place the grapes were grown, rather than shipped in a tanker to a massive factory in Antwerp and bottled alongside Pepsi, before hitting the shelves of Happy Shopper at £2.99 a bottle.
But digging a little deeper I unearthed a few that were recogniseable. A pleasing half-hour therefore passed, during which no tidying occured, and it turns out that there were quite a few more interesting* ones in there. I feel obliged to feature a small selection, clockwise from top left, and ending in the middle, as I have nothing else to say**.
1. Chateau Batailley, a Chateau L staple. Left bank claret, decently priced. I drink of a lot it. Not that you could tell.
2. Chateau de la Variere. In the Loire somewhere, we visited whilst on holiday. I would never be able to find it again, but I remember it being quite nice and doing dessert, which this is. Was.
3. Domaine Olivier Leflaive. White Burgundy - as popular as water round here, possibly drunk more frequently.
4. Wirra Wirra, an Aussie departure.
5. Bonneau du Martray. Oh yes.
6. Domaine Bruno Clair, Chambolle Musigny - Red Burgundy and Ribena substitute.
7. Cote de Nuits of some description. Likely delicious.
8. Domaine du Vieux Telegraph; wonderful Red Rhone that I can't afford any more because Kim Yong-Un has bought it all.
9. Indeterminate and forgotten celebration.
So where are they now? Recycled? At the dump? Errrr, almost. They're now in the loft. And guess what I found up there? Yup, the previous five years. I am nothing if not consistently sad.
* lies
** true
These were the words spoken to me by my good birding buddy Paul H at about 7:15am this morning, and they were well deserved. Out of context, a little strange, no? Or perhaps not, but in any case, to fully understand why, let me take you back about forty-five minutes to roughly 6:30am.
I had managed to drag myself out of bed before 6am, no mean feat for someone as lazy as I. So at 6:30 I found myself just west of Alexandra Lake, and what with all the gales recently, I was hoping for some Hot Wader Action. These thoughts were instantly scuppered when a jogger appeared from the sand hills, accompanied by a large black dog, that whilst leashed, would still have scared all the Grey-tailed Tattlers and Willets away. I spent some time muttering words beginning with F, and cursing my luck. I mean just how early do I have to get up? Predictably, there were no waders. There may never have been any waders, but that is pure speculation. The jogger in question is not a bad sort as it happens - somewhat bizarrely she follows my Twitter feed where I rant about dogs, is fairly keen on birds herself, and wondered if she had seen me this morning? I confirmed that she had, and we're now having a semi-conversation about the lack of waders in Wanstead. But I digress, at 6:30am I didn't know any of this.
I carried on to the scrub, and a small brown bird zipped from some brambles to a hawthorn. Thinking thoughts of the Gropper that Nick booted out in almost the same place a few days earlier, this got the pulse racing, and it took ten minutes to confirm it as.....a Whitethroat. Piss. 6:45am and it's time to turn for home. Mrs L, bless her cotton socks, needs to go to work to support the family. Yep, even in September and October. As I passed south of Alexandra Lake, I noticed an awful lot of Woodpigeons in the air. Do we really have that many, I thought, or is it Woodpigeon passage already? Then my mind turned to what kind of event may have caused two hundred Woodpigeons to simultaeneously take flight, and I looked at the sky.... Please forgive the large font.
OSPREY!!!!!!!!!
I honestly could not believe my eyes. There must have been some kind of mistake, I could not possibly be looking at an Osprey flapping over my head. This is my dream bird for here, my want of wants (and I want a lot!), and here it was, majestically scaring the crap out of a monumental number of Woodpigeons, and flapping lazily south-east towards the Golden Fleece pub. I rang Nick. He of all people would be out and about. He was, but had only just arrived at the other end of the Flats, and looking east into the rising sun stood little chance. Gutted, so close, and yet so far. As a patch birder, getting a good patch bird is the ultimate reward, but coming a very close second is making sure your fellow patch-workers get to see it too, and in this instance it just didn't happen, and there was nothing either of us could have done.
I've been waiting, hoping, for a patch Osprey for about six years. I look at the sky an awful lot at the right time of year, and have had Ospreys pass both to the east and west of me. Some of my mates have seen several in London, but until today I'd never managed to connect. Ideally I would have seen it from the garden, but hey. Still an awesome event, and I have one of those silly smiles right now. So why am I a bell-end?
