Spry, like a mountain goat

I have just spent some time in nice rocky and sandy environments trying to see and photography various birds. I like deserts – they are in their own way very beautiful. I am no Wilfred Thesiger, as I will recount shortly, but they are definitely to be appreciated, and I would urge anyone who has not been to these regions to go. For the landscape as much as the wildlife.

I was in the UAE. You might think that ths is a bit of a pretend desert, criss-crossed by eight lane highways and carpeted in luxury hotels and crazy skyscrapers. Whilst that’s true, you don’t actually have to go that far to get that feeling of isolation; away from Dubai and Sharjah in the north, it’s still all rather primitive and undeveloped. And then anything south-west of Abu Dhabi and Al Ain are simply a blank canvas, miles upon miles of nothing until you’re well into Saudi Arabia.

This is where I was. I flew to Dubai but it holds nothing for me. Malls and glitz, no thanks. In the same way that I always turn my back on Marrakech and head south, I turned my back on Dubai and headed towards the Omani border. This is where mountain goat skills are best employed.

So it was that at 6.30am I found myself in a stony wadi picking my way slowly up a mountain and surrounded by birds. Green Bee-eaters were amongst the first birds I saw, followed quickly by Orphean Warblers and a bonus Sand Partridge. Much further along the wadi, by which time it had narrowed significantly, I could see a small bird flitting around some foliage halfway up a cliff. Too far up to identify, I carefully picked my way up a scree slope. Plain Leaf Warbler, fantastic! A world lifer no less. It was joined by a couple of Purple Sunbirds and a gaggle of White-eared Bulbul. All very nice, and as gradually this feeding party moved off.

It was then I realised I was quite far up really quite a steep slope, and as everyone ought to know - especially those approaching early middle age - going down is a lot harder than coming up. And as this is 2016, the year of medical and other traumas, needless to say I totally arsed it up. I slipped, fell, bashed my camera on a rock and twisted my ankle all in one graceful movement. I wondered if I had broken it? My ankle, not the camera - this merely now has another crack in it, these 1 series machines can withstand almost anything. But I couldn't really feel my foot, very very tingly. Gradually sensation returned, and with it agonising pain. Excellent. I still had a good way to descend, and my car was at least a mile away. I made it back down and limped very slowly back to where I had parked. Clearly nothing was broken or I'd be being digested inside Lappet-faced Vultures instead of typing this, but nonetheless this could change the rest of the trip.

Needless to say I pushed on, go hard or go home, and in fact took some of my better photos over the next two days whilst essentially balancing on one leg - no mean feat with a very large telephoto lens. Arriving back in the UK early morning on Tuesday I went straight to work and called up the health insurance people. 

"Oh hi Jono" said a familiar voice on the phone, testament to the number of times I've had to call them this year already. "We were wondering when we would hear from you again. What have you done this time?" I explained the sorry tale and was duly booked to see a physio later that morning who confirmed I had a bad sprain and could look forward to 8 weeks of rehab. I declined the crutches.

I am beginning to tire of this year. My eyes have got crap in them, my hand has a lump in it, my little finger a permanent kink, and let's not even talk about my sigmoid whatever it is and the continued nonsense on that front. I would just like for a few months to pass without anything bad happening to me, is that going to be possible? I do not know how this happens, though I have an idea. I suspect it because I still attempt to charge around the place like I am 20 whereas reality says otherwise. Aged 20 I probably would have skipped down that slope and carried on up the wadi. Over double that and skipping doesn't wash any more. Falling over and snapping things is now much more my style, followed by people poking at me and cc-ing me on large bills on posh paper. Anyhow, what I would like to know from my ageing readership is whether this in fact normal and if this is simply a tipping point. If you will forgive the pun, am I now on a slippery slope?

Not bad for a bloke with one leg, one hand, nine fingers, and failing eyes.

Bonus injury post

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.

Black Hawk

More toe issues

Some of you will be lucky enough to remember my toe incident a couple of a few years ago. The one where I heroically sprinted to the garden to get a domestic appliance engineer a towel. The one where in a spectacular flying leap into the house I crushed my big toe against the sill of the door and fractured it. Plus blood. Plus a new sodding dishwasher as after all that it would have cost £200 to fix it and £201.50 for a new one. My left toe (the caring NHS doctor wrote right toe on all the forms) has never been the same since, and in colder weather it aches. Well, friends, there is more. Concerning the opposite big toe, the right-hand one, if Whipps Cross is reading. The day after I came back from Iceland it suddenly went numb. Not completely numb, just bloody irritating numb. 

I have no idea why. A cursory internet seach found a page which listed 33 causes for a numb big toe. I didn't read it, I mean who would? My mother said that as she approached 40 her big toe suddenly went numb too, so clearly it's genetic and also isn't particularly fatal. It's just a mild, not quite pins and needles annoyance that two weeks later shows no signs of going away. Any doctors out there that can suggest fewer than 30 reasons why this might be are welcome to get in contact, as obviously I can't be bothered to go and see anyone about it. As far as me is concerned, it's about as far away from the important bits as it can be, and frankly is not a big deal. But I thought I'd mention it as I have nothing else to say. 

Or at least I thought I did, but then this weekend I had another toe incident! Well, a close to toe incident. Would that it had been my right big toe, as it concerned stepping on a drawing pin ALL THE WAY IN. My children are not noted for having tidy bedrooms. In fact, Chateau L is not known for tidyness in any room, but these particular rooms are the worst. The word "pit" is often overused, but not here. Anyhow, I made the criminal mistake of walking into a child's bedroom in bare feet. A child's bedroom with a bulletin board. I then experienced the kind of pain reserved only for childbirth. Think stepping on Lego but far far worse. I reached down, gasping, and discovered a bloody drawing pin protruding from my foot. From my non-numb foot. From the foot where I can now say that the nerves are functioning one hundred percent. Arrrgh!!! I pulled it out, and an immense arc of blood spattered over the room. Not really, but there was a bit. Enough to worry the owner of the pit and of the drawing pin. Choice words emerged, and I hobbled to the bathroom to sort myself out and stem the flow, which by now was a steady drip.

On the plus side, some incredibly feverish room tidying of the sort rarely seen in Chateau L occurred almost instantaneously. Every cloud and all that. The rest of the day was spent resting, obviously, as major wounds like this do not take kindly to over-exertion. The following day some mild swelling, and as I type this a few days later I can't actually feel anything. Or not in my big toe anyway.

Dreams come true!!

But not for me..... There I was, sitting in my little grey cubicle in big grey Canary Wharf when my phone bonged. It was from Nick. This is rarely good news. He had the good grace to start with an apology, but there was no getting away from the fact that a Lapwing had just flown over his head. Unlike my dream, this one was going east, but they all count.

Meanwhile I took a stroll round Canary Wharf. Though 13 Great Crested Grebes was a new high, I could not help but feel slightly short-changed. If I walked around Wanstead for an equivalent amount of time, I'd easily rack up 30 species, possibly more, and I wouldn't just be seeing one of things, I'd be seeing loads. In 45 minutes today, during which I circumnavigated the whole patch, I saw eleven species. The highlight, other than the Grebes, was a Blue Tit. There is poor, and then there is downright impoverished. And then there is Canary Wharf. At one stage, at the far eastern end of my defined boundary, I thought I heard a Pied Wagtail. I quickly folded my hat up over my ears for that ultra-cool look that I pass off so well, but whatever it was it didn't call again, and with a whole packet of peanuts at stake I can't go claiming dodgy ones. 

It will be interesting* to see what happens this spring. I am working it harder than ever before in the limited time I spend there, so perhaps it will shine**. The happy*** news is that my contract has been extended, so I get to spend more time there. Woohoo!**** But it does mean crusts on the table (and wine in the cellar) and in these uncertain times I am thankful; there are plenty of people who are not employed, and plenty of people for whom the future is doubtful. I would still like to petition for continued child benefit though, it's the only reason I had children, and it's the only monetary benefit I have ever claimed. If it goes I will be forced to injure myself more in order to extract a quasi tax rebate out of the NHS. I assure you it will be quite easy- in fact I stubbed my toe (THE toe) just the other day and for a brief moment of extreme pain I thought it had all gone wrong again. It certainly hasn't healed quite correctly, I wonder if I ought to have had some kind of cast after all? Mind you, the doctor I had probably would have put it on the wrong foot....

* not
** almost certainly not
*** errr...
****Never has a woo and a hoo been quite so muted

Hurting Myself

My toe you know about. It is mostly better, though about half-way through the healing process I stubbed it again on a chair and went back to square one. I don't expect I mentioned it though, I am not the complaining type.

Well, I've done it again. Not my toe, this time both knees. I am hobbling severely. About three weeks ago, or whenever it was that I was dipping the Bluethroat at Rainham, I tripped and smacked my right knee on the edge of the board-walk. Ouch. I could walk fine, but when I stretched the knee a certain way, by golly it hurt. Today, three weeks later, it's still hurting, the action which most aggravates it is picking things up off the floor. Lucky therefore that I don't have to spend my entire day picking up after children. I get a sharp, shooting pain, and if I poke the affected area it really hurts. I don't do that very often obviously, just every now and again to see if it still hurts. Which it does, a lot. I wonder what I have done such that three weeks on it is still so noticeable?

Anyhow, not content with continuing sharp pain from the right knee, yesterday I did the other one. En route from the conservatory to the bottom of the garden, there to dispose of some rapidly decomposing pumpkins, I walked straight into the edge of the door. Bang. Agony. By the school run I had a slight limp, and by the evening, a proper hobble. Getting up the stairs, in and out of the car, and particularly tying my shoe-laces are all a right royal pain. In the knee.

This morning, I've done something to the end of my middle finger, on my left hand since you ask. I was cleaning out the powder tray on the washing machine, slipped, and well, I've done something to it. I don't know what. No swelling, no bruise, just yet another area of me that now hurts.



I am clearly falling to pieces, and I want to know why. Please don't tell me that this is the ageing process. I'm 35 for God's sake, does it really start so soon? I'm noticing two things. The first is that I am definitely less spritely than I was before. My carefree bounding lollops go wrong, as per the toe, and my prior nimbleness that allowed me to safely negotiate tricky areas like doorways is letting me down. Are these signs of deteriorating coordination? Or is it just, er, the increased effects of gravity, which I hear has been getting stronger lately?

Secondly, when I do smack into something, the results seem a lot worse. I'd like to think that a few years ago when I bashed into a sharp corner, well it would hurt, but that I'd shake it off pretty quickly and get on with it. And certainly not blog about it ad infinitum. But I can't help noticing that these minor injuries are dragging, are taking much longer to disappear. Of course I am manly and tough, and just get on with it, no whining here, move on, but secretly it is beginning to niggle. What if I need to run for a patch tick? Would I make it? Time will no doubt tell.

Your taxes well spent

You will perhaps recall that I broke my toe. Do you remember which one it was? I do. Certain significant other people in the Lethbridge residence do not. Nice to see they care. To save you from going back and looking at photos of my well-pedicured feet, it was the LEFT big toe.

Imagine my astonishment yesterday when a follow-up letter from the NHS Fracture Clinic arrived, one copy for me, one copy for my doctor.


Dear Dr Sinha

Diagnosis: Evulsion type fracture proximal phalanx right big toe.

This 35 year old gentleman was walking down his garden when his right big toe was forcefully flexed when he hit something. It became very painful and swollen. This happened about 9 days ago. He came to casualty where x-rays showed the above fracture. Since then his symptoms have improved a lot. He hardly has any pain now and is walking without a limp.

On examination there was some swelling but no bruising. He was tender over the IP joint of the big toe but was able to actively extend the big toe without any problem. I do not think he needs any active treatment but he needs to avoid sporting activities for a while. I am not giving him any further clinic appointment.

Yours sincerely

A Doctor.


So what can we infer from this, other than that Mrs L is qualified to work as a Doctor and that "evulsive" must be medical-speak for "very serious"? Well, the first line is interesting, as Dr Sinha retired last year, but that is a mere record-keeping slip-up. They got the wrong bloody foot!! Did the doctor perhaps not notice that when looking at the x-ray that there were a number of other bones to the left of my big toe, but none to the right? Jeez, if I ever need something amputating I hope this guy isn't on duty!

And yes, I was just walking down my garden, minding my own business, perhaps casually whistling a tune, when ever-so-unfortunately my foot brushed against something forcefully. If this were the case, fully seventy-five percent of the population would have broken bones. Remember that I said my appointment lasted about 90 seconds, and then I limped out again? This is the proof.

However, all is forgiven, as the letter made me laugh. The doctor has inserted some genuine humour by suggesting that I avoid sporting activities for a while. Oh OK then, I will. Although this will mean a massive lifestyle makeover, for the sake of my toe, I'll give it all up.

Much Ado about Nothing

Hot news since the last post:

Anyway, moving on, my toe still hurts, but not as much. On Friday I went up to the hospital to attend the fracture clinic. Astonishingly my appointment was delayed by an hour, so the kids and I passed the time hunting for wildlife in one of the out-patient courtyard gardens. This was a stunning success with a new moth species found, the Vapourer, which if handled correctly destroys tardy NHS staff with a powerful distintegration beam. When I was eventually called in, the doctor asked me to take my sock off, made me wiggle my toe, and then said there was nothing they could do and that it would take six to eight weeks to heal and not to do it again. Er, ok then, I won't. Ninety seconds later I was limping out into the fresh air.

Time spent at Whipps Cross as a result of patio step jumping out at me: 3 hours 50 minutes
Time spent with medical staff: 10.5 minutes.

Broken down as:

1 minute for the first nurse to look dispassionately at my foot and send me to the x-ray room
2 minutes to get x-rayed.
3 minutes with a doctor looking at the x-ray, declaring a fracture, and sending me to a nurse.
3 minutes for a nurse to bandage up the foot with tape
1.5 minutes for the fracture clinic doctor to tell me to go away

Other interesting statistics include approx 20 minutes booking in at casualty, including needing to provide the personal details of my entire extended family and the religion of each of my toes, another 5 minutes getting a fracture clinic appointment from the same man, £2.50 on parking, and about 8 miles walking to the x-ray room and back.

I ripped off the bandage they put on after about 3 hours as I felt it made my foot throb, so that was 3 wasted minutes, and I very nearly didn't bother attending the fracture clinic, guessing that they would do nothing. Maybe I should be a doctor next?

Hawky and I found this fly at Rainham. We didn't know what it was, but it looked funky. It was quite keen on following Hawky round, eventually posing for a photograph on his forehead. As I lined up the perfect shot, carefully selected the right aperture, asked him to turn a bit to the right for better lighting, re-framed the shot and so on, it proceeded to bite him, thus causing me to blur my shot at the crucial moment. Honestly, what an amateur. I looked it up when I got home. It's called a Twin-lobed Deerfly, a particularly malevolent type of Horsefly. Pretty cool huh?!

So, can I walk? Just about. And I have been. And naturally I've been overdoing it. Saturday Hawky and I did a full circuit of Rainham and the full sea-wall, laden with camera and scope. I got progressively slower on the return leg, and so strained my calf muscle which prevented me from going out yesterday. Today it felt sufficiently better to try Wanstead Flats in the morning and Rainham in the afternoon, so presumably tomorrow will also be a write-off. I just don't do sitting around doing nothing. Why couldn't this have happened in June?

Ultra-pro shot of a Lesser Whitethroat.

In between bouts of attempted birding I have played a lot of Lego, been to a Moth Night at Rainham (Jersey Tiger and Elephant Hawkmoth, thank you very much), been to the pub, watched Toy Story 3 (superb), listened to a lot of cricket, and drunk a fair bit of wine to help the healing process.

Common Lizard on the boardwalk at Rainham. Also on the "broardwalk" at Rainham today was a Wood Warbler. Awesome. I didn't see it, but it was in the sightings book so it must be true.

And that's it. The last four days encapsulated in a single blog post with some totally unrelated photographs that make for disjointed reading. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Holding Pattern 2

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. You will perhaps have gathered that there is nothing happening. Wanstead may be drowning in Wood Warblers, but as I have been stuck indoors, I wouldn't know. I am hoping that my fellow patch-workers have taken up the mantle. Actually to be honest, they probably had it already. The mantle that is. Having said that, I have heard no gripping reports of Wood Warbler, so I'm assuming it's all quiet on the Western Front.

My toe is much better, though as you may have gathered, not better enough to go out on the patch. Not that it matters, as Mrs L is still away, and even with three working feet I would still be confined to the house. This is momentous, for reasons I will now explain. The image above is my typical Brownie Point counter. You will note that it is negative. It is always negative. No matter how much I slave, how much I cook, dust, and vacuum, I always go birding more. In my language, half an hour of dusting equals a full day birding, perhaps two. Mrs L does not, as they say, speaka my language. What's more, I can't do DIY, which I understand is a useful BP accumulation strategy. Lay a parquet floor? Yeah right. If I were to try something, I would botch it, and lose another thousand or so. Even mentioning it would probably lose me a hundred. This is known as "with intent" I believe. So it came as a huge surprise when I tentatively raised the perennial question of the BP counter with Mrs L on the phone the other night, and received a positive number! This is unheard of! Happily ensconced on her choir trip or whatever it is (extra BPs for knowing!), without any prompting she said I was in the black, in positive territory. Well blow me down!

I should break my foot more often. Even though it was my own stupid fault, doing it at the very start of the school holidays and only a day before she left on a week-long musical extravaganza has proved to be a killer strategy. Sympathy in bucket-loads, she even went shopping for me before she left, and now the ultimate accolade, a positive BP counter. I didn't think it would ever happen. Here it is, in all it's glory.

The astute among you will note that it is still negative. I am hedging my bets. Half of me still doesn't really believe it, and the half that does assumes some kind of domestic screw-up before she gets back.

Holding Pattern

Well, Mrs L has gone, and I am on my lonesome. Me, my two girls, and my purple toe. Muffin returns on Sunday, and I am genuinely looking forward to seeing him. It has been a week, and I have missed him. Although he is going to be bitterly disappointed that Daddy won't be able to play football with him, there are plenty of other things we can do, and he is so self-sufficient these days that he is going to be incredibly helpful with me incapacitated.

I must apologise again for all the photos of my foot. Not nice I know, and in retrospect I suspect that they must have put you off posting messages of sympathy and concern. I promise I won't post any more. Unless it gets infected.

So what has been happening? Well, unsurprisingly, hardly anything. Bar being driven to the hospital, I have not left the house. I have barely seen a bird. I just heard a Great Spotted Woodpecker whilst brushing my teeth, but so far today that is the sum total of my avian adventures, and the rest of the day, indeed week, holds precisely nothing in store. Mrs L did a big shop last night that should see us through until she returns, and I suspect that we're just going to hunker down.

I will endeavour to continue publishing exciting posts, and in the absence of any birding, I am afraid that you must expect a few more insects, starting with this Grasshopper. TTFN.

The Toe of Unhappiness

After sleeping on it, in the vain hope that it would be miraculously cured overnight, I decided that there was nothing for it but to head to A & E to get it looked at. It has gone a whole lot more purple since I took yesterday's photo. Whipps Cross was surprisingly and pleasingly efficient, and within two hours it was confirmed that that I have indeed broken it. I wasn't really paying attention, so I can't remember if it is the first metatarsal or one of the next bones along, but whichever, I have cracked it and thus now have a new subject upon which to rant. For the next six to eight weeks. My advice to you is to log-off now, delete the bookmark, and come back in mid-September.




I am so annoyed, I cannot begin to tell you. And it is all my own stupid fault as well. It's not as if Mrs L had left the ironing board out, or one of the kids had left a car on the floor. No, it was just me misjudging a running-leap from the garden. Arse. And the timing really sucks. Tomorrow Mrs L leaves for a weeks choir tour to Cornwall, and I am on my own with three kids. The doctor's advice was to ensure my foot was up as much as possible. Somehow I can't see that happening. I mean FFS, this could not have happened at a worse time. I'm not sure I can even drive. Walking around the patch is going to be challenging to say the least. I predict a lot of garden-watching. And swearing.

Next week I have to attend the fracture clinic. Presumably this is when they issue me with a large boot thing to wear for a month. Whoopee. Just what I wanted as autumn kicks off. Why couldn't I have bust my left thumb or something, or got a hang-nail? We are very very far from being amused.

So, what now? Well, less dusting for a start....

Are you eating?

Hope not, but if you are, look away now. Let's face it, only the feet of small children are nice. Teenagers, adults, old people, all essentially disgusting, and I think that my feet are pretty unattractive. However, this is not going to prevent me sharing them with the world.

If you read that twitter thing on the right, you will perhaps be aware that I stubbed my toe today. Whilst the dishwasher repair guy (Trevor) was here, he requested an old towel. I knew I had one in the garden that I use as a white backdrop for moth-catching, so I went and got that. As I skipped gaily back indoors, I misjudged the patio step, caught my left big toe, and crumpled to a heap on the floor. But Trevor needed that towel, so I got up, carried on, and gave it to him, at the same time noticing blood leaking from underneath my toenail.

In the event he didn't use the towel. Nor did he fix the dishwasher. His recommendation was to just buy a new one. Many Thanks Trev. Should I also get a new toe?

Look!


Ouch. I clobbered it good and proper and it hurts a lot more that the photo would suggest. It has turned purple, and I can barely bend it. I think I am going to need to go to Whipps Cross A&E tomorrow morning as I can't walk. You wouldn't have thought that a big toe is particularly important, but in fact I have discovered that I need it to work properly. My parents say that if it is broken I will need to wearing some kind of cast boot thing. Let's hope that it is just bruising, as I have no desire to wear a stupid heavy boot through the summer holidays. I mean what if I need to twitch something? Also please note that the white areas on my feet that look suspiciously like where flip-flops go are in fact due to a Michael Jackson-esque skin-whitening disease, and not at all indicative of the life of a perpetual bum.