Goodness, it's cold, you guys. After the deep frost, we now have the piercing freezing fog.
All my brass monkeys are now sopranos.
Damn, I really mean, every morning, to get out there on the fens, and knock up some spectacular records of whatever is out there in spectacular numbers.
But it's no good, I just can't get out of my fleecy dressing gown. I was built for comfort, and OUT THERE, there is no comfort.
I made a bold dash across Grunty Fen two days ago to get in supplies from Tesco's for the continuing siege, and caught a glimpse of a small fastmoving wader (shorebird) that dived (dove) into a ditch (dyke) by the roadside.
I checked on the way back, but couldn't find it, so I am now at liberty to make it anything I want. Size and shape and jizz of, say, a Green Sandpiper, but it wasn't a Green Sandpiper. After that, not much left, unless you start fantasizing about real rarities. What about the bird in the picture?!
This morning, my feeders were HEAVING with birds. All the usual suspects, of course, plus the male Sparrowhawk on the lookout for a quick fast-breaker.
And a brief glimpse of something finchlike that could have been anything, other than what it manifestly wasn't. Please be some kind of Redpoll. And come back so I can confirm you!
All in all, I think it's time I reviewed my options.