Ebay and everything that is wrong with this country

I have become addicted to getting rid of stuff from Chateau L and flogging it on Ebay. My house WILL look nice. The clever thing to do would have been to hire a skip for a fortnight and blitz it, simply closing my eyes when I found something that might have been worth something and tossing it in regardless. This would have been a much quicker route to success, however you can't argue with a recovery of several thousand pounds. The hassle has however been remarkable, boxes of junk hanging around the house for weeks, boxes and tape everywhere, endless packaging up, and then awkward trips to the post office before work. Worst of all however have been the general purchasing public. Some of them have almost made me regret not going down the skip route.

The worst are not the ones who bid, win, and then disappear never to be heard from again. I mean yeah they're annoying, definitely up there, but not the very worst. I'm currently waiting for someone who bought Mrs L's bike on day 30 of a day 30 listing to pay up. It's been over a week now and there has been complete radio silence. We were quite excited that somebody had finally bought it as it has been clogging up our shed for ages, but as I presciently observed when the auction ended, I'd only celebrate when it had gone. Four emails later and I've heard nothing whatsoever. I've got their address mind you, so in theory I could cycle the thing across London and toss it in their front garden. In pieces perhaps.

No, the worst ones are those who ask tons of questions, one after the other, including asking for information that is clearly listed in the description. Along the lines of “What size are the black 9F shoes you are selling?” This continues for some while, the questions getting more and more obscure or alternatively daft. “And what colour are they?”. Patiently you respond nicely, however tempting it might be to call them out as total idiots – the black shoes are black you complete cretin. And then you never hear from them again. Life is obviously too short to complain to them or about them, what is the point, but only once across loads of auctions have I had a guy come back and thank me for answering all his questions, but that he was very sorry as he had found a similar item nearer. I mean it's only polite isn't it?

Near the top of the list are those that write urgently insisting that the item be posted asap, first class (they have paid for second, the cheapskates), as they absolutely need it the following day. I go out of my way to get this done, to send it on precisely the day they want so that it arrives on a certain day. I know only to well how annoying having to stay in for a delivery is. And then you never hear from them again. Can you spot a trend? No thanks, no feedback, no nothing. You wonder why you bothered.

Then there are the ultra-agressive types. Those who type in capital letters, insisting that there is MAJOR PROBLEM with whatever it was, a scratch on the sole of a shoe for instance, and that unless you immediately give them a large refund they will be sending back the package at YOUR EXPENSE and YOU WILL PAY FOR IT. Right. To refer them to Arkell v. Pressdram is the very tempting response, but why bother for a fiver or whatever? The name of the game is to pacify. To grin and bear it. To make people feel like they are winners in life. All the while that skip looms in the back of your mind...

This I suppose is a microcosm of the British public, or that is what I am calling it anyway. The I'm all right Jack selfish attitude that blights our population. The loss of personalisation caused by social media, online shopping, and a general decline in knowing what it is to behave properly. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but surely it does not need to be this way? Shallow and vacuous, a little politeness goes a long way. Pleases and thank yous, it is not much to ask.

All this said, I have now managed to get rid of some 190 different things. This includes the aforementioned shoes – the buyer tried to wriggle out of it by the way but I was having none of it, lots of infrequently used optical equipment, a waistcoat, every single last piece of my extensive fishing gear collection, wooden trains, lego spaceships, copious amounts of whisky, a Dungeons and Dragons book from the late 1980s (why did I still have this?), old computer games, airline amenity kits, a 1950s light meter, the list is almost endless and every departure is a minor victory. Set against this is having to deal with people that I would probably actively avoid in real life. Thankfully it is nearing the end now, or at least until we attempt emptying the loft. A couple boxes of junk (yes I am the descendant of Gerald Ratner) linger on the upstairs landing, but they're gradually going down and it won't be long before I can chop them up and smuggle them into the weekly recycling. And then I may delete my account lest I ever do anything so stupid again. But let me first re-list this bloody bike. 

September on the Patch....

....is so far very similar to August. In fact it involves most of the same birds, including all of yesterday's Whinchats and possibly an extra one for good measure. A couple of Redstart still knocking around as well, but quality was provided by a Green Sandpiper heading west across the Flats. I was chasing the aforementioned Whinchats around the Broom Fields, and had got within the requisite 40m before they all took flight again, when I heard a wader call, high and piercing. Looking around desperately yielded nothing, but it called again twice whilst remaining invisible. I was texting out the news of wader goodness when a text from Nick came through. I had thought he was at Long Wood, but in fact he was somewhere over towards the Alex, and had had a Green Sand over calling. He hadn't seen it either, but no matter, mystery solved, and checking my phone confirmed that the high call notes were indeed the species I had been wondering about. Happy days.



This was as close as I came, which with 1120mm of focal length tells you all you need to know.

This proved the only high note of the morning, the Whinchats were completely impossible, and a brief glimpse of a Redstart diving between cover had me scuttling home - there is only so long I want to schlep a big lens around for without actually doing anything with it. So instead I have devoted the rest of the day to sorting out my greenhouse, which before birding took over my life was a mainstay of my OCD. The scene inside was of major devastation. Even though the plants I like are mostly from arid zones, there is only so much that even they can take, and I have unfortunately managed to kill loads of them. Mainly these were seedling plants, the ones that really needed tender loving care, whereas the larger plants have more in reserve and can last longer. I am a fool. So, a massive cleaning exercise, lots of disposing of dead plants, lots of tipping soil away, and a back-breaking trip to the dump to dispose of the lot. But it looks great now! Whilst I was having my sort out, I also swept and scrubbed the floor, and scrubbed the walls (yes, my greenhouse has walls....) and the dirty bits of the frame. I've got rid of all the mould, sprayed away many of the bugs, and basically done what I ought to have done about five months ago. It almost looks pristine, and I've resolved to enjoy it again.

This Green Woodpecker landed vaguely near Bob and I whilst we were discussing which waders we hadn't seen on the patch.

The feeling of satisfaction, although tinged with sadness at the loss of rare plants, is hard to beat. It has been on successive to-do lists for absolutely ages and ages. Why I decided to start it in September, when the whole of June had been available I have no idea, call it stupidity, but it is done. I actually started last night, and in total the job has taken somewhere between seven and eight hours of non-stop work. Mostly lows when confronted with yet another death, but a huge high when with no small amount of pleasure I also discovered two bottles of Scotch down there, a reminder of a time when I wasn't just processing photos and blogging all the time. Back then I thought nothing of actually sitting down and doing very little in my special greenhouse chair, sometimes even falling asleep in the muggy warmth whilst the fans whirred and the foliage rustled. I always kept a wee something down there for precisely those times, and although covered in cobwebs and muck, liquid remained within. The label on one had been completely eaten away by snails, but I recall that if was The Glenlivet. The other is obviously a Glenfiddich, though in a brown bottle rather than green, whatever that means, as the snails and slugs have had the crucial information. Naturally I checked that both were fine, a quick swig from each one, and am pleased to confirm that several years of neglect, sub-zero temperatures and then high thirties, seem to have had no impact on their sipping qualities, so I may take a glass down there. I've just fumigated it, done a final sweep up, a final bit of house-keeping, and all is good. Time to start buying plants again I guess.....