This should mean a bit more time for updating the blog, and a few weeks ago I pledged to make more of an effort, but the pledge has not been entirely fulfilled. Not since the Eastern Crowned Warbler at least. Hang on, let me just say that again: Eastern Crowned Warbler. There, feeling better already. Rather than trot out the usual excuse of busy busy with work, though, I do have a genuine excuse this time in that, in recent weeks, becoming a match correspondent for Wareham Rangers Youth FC Under-12s, for whom son George regularly turns out, has created competing demands on the time I have available for writing stuff.
|Firecrest: a highlight of a recent trip to the patch|
|Mistle Thrush at Swineham|
|Pied Wagtail at Bestwall|
As if in heavenly retribution for this diabolical lowering of standards, as I stood on the most open part of Swineham Point, and started to count how many seconds there were between the first flash of lighting of the afternoon and the clap of thunder which followed, I found to my consternation that I didn't quite get to '2'. If I've been closer to the centre of a thunder storm I don't recall it: it really was the most almighty, gut-trembling noise, and I don't mind admitting it left me feeling quite awe-struck, and not a little exposed. All the fowls of the air - Godwits, Little Egrets and Lapwings - must have felt likewise as they flushed from previously unseen roosts, and I scurried back to the shelter of the nearest hedgerow, lest I be smote down for unethical listing. So the Black Swan record is now firmly back in category 'E'.
|How low can you go: Black Swans at Bestwall|