No, I didn't go

And yes, I am bitter. But only slightly. Having prematurely suggested in Saturday's post that I hadn't jinxed myself by predicting a mega during my weekend 'on call', I realised the next morning I had done precisely that when news broke of a Citril Finch in Norfolk. By when, even if I could have arranged some cover, I was committed to supporting wife and sons in Poole at the Rainbow Run, in my capacity as official family photographer. The thought of leaving them to it as they perspired for worthy causes never entered my head, of course, and I didn't even get close to calculating that if I left them to get the train home I could do the 248.3 miles from Wareham to Holkham in 5 hrs 3 mins, giving me a couple of hours before dark to look for the bird.

Citril Finch, French Alps, 2011

All academic of course, as I couldn't go anyway, and now history too, as, unlike the other spring weekend rarities which I lauded recently, it chose not to stick around. At least this left Sunday afternoon free to twitch Portland with Steve Smith, though a frustrating session searching for Golden Orioles ended with mixed feelings as I managed to clap eyes on a perched bird which flew before I could raise my lens, and before Steve was able to join me. As he was driving, this raised the spectre of the man overboard scenario from our Great Blue Heron twitch. Fortunately, he rose above it and didn't make me walk home. Cheers mate!

Yours truly swells with pride as the rest of the family power to the finish line