MAY

31st May, Redesmere

Weather looks bad today... Thunder, lightning and rain forecast... What to do... Ah,  I know - Black terns, now they like thunder, lightning and rain, and they've been pretty thin on the ground this year so they should be about to flood through... But where to go? Audenshaw? No, fuck that, it's school half-term and the place will be packed with rat boys and pregnant 13 year old girls... Pennington Flash? No, similar problems... hmmm... what about some of them under watched Cheshire meres? What under watched Cheshire meres? You know, like that mere where the totally wild Lesser Scaup turned up on a few years ago... Oh yeah, that totally wild Lesser Scaup which was really, really, really tame, but still obviously completely wild... Where was that again? Better have a look in my notebooks... no, that will take too much time, I'll just type it into Google... lesser scaup cheshire (I never use capital letters on search engines - I'm a wild child!)... Redesmere, that's the place... Now where is it? I'll get my road map... or I could just type it into Google... right then, Redesmere it is...

...Bollocks, roads are pretty busy today... Why can't people just use the bus or trains? I mean it's different for me, I have to drive, but what about all these other people, surely they don't all need cars? Christ, it really is busy... It's going to take forever to get anywhere, which makes no sense... Oh come on... How many fucking roundabouts do you need on one short stretch of road? I hate the A34, too many bad memories, though I can't quite recall any of them... What's on the radio? It's all shit... I'll just sit in silence and think about stuff... What should I think about? hmmm... no, definitely not that, don't want to rake all that up again... hmmm... no, can't think of anything... Oh just look at the size of that stupid fucking enormous thing - and bullbars on the front? Are you serious? What do you need bullbars for? How many bulls are going to mow down on your way to Tesco, you stupid fucking twat? Oh shit, he's looking at me now... I'll just look directly forward and pretend he's not there... is he still looking at me? Just a quick look... fuck, he's staring at me now... Oh come on! How fucking long does it take to change from red to green? Come on, there's swarms of Black Terns at Redesmere waiting for me, probably peppered with a few White-winged Black Terns as well, and I'm sat in traffic... Come on!

... Look at all these twats in Alderley Edge, what a load of wankers... I hate Alderley Edge. "Yeah, it's not big or clever to sit in over priced cafes with your fake tans and your pathetic conversations about private health care..." There's some pretty nice cars knocking about though... Still, the people are all twats, and don't ever forget that...

... Not far now... Excitement building... I wonder just how many Black Terns there's going to be? This is going to be fucking great...

... shit, it's packed... Why would people want to come here? Bastards... Why can't they go to proper tourist places, places like National Trust things and Alton Towers? Why come to Redesmere? Fuck, there's even an ice cream van... Not to worry, I'll just drive straight past the civilians, they only ever hang around the car park to feed ducks and eat crisps... Okay, let's get looking, or 'spotting' as is the correct parlance... Mallard... Mallard... Mute Swan... loads of Mute Swans... Mallard... Coot... Mallard... Coot... what the fuck's that?... domestic goose... Mallard... domestic goose... loads of domestic geese... oooh, a Shoveler, nice... Mallard... House Martin... Mallard... Mallard... Coot... Mallard... Mute Swan...Moorhen... Tufted Duck... Mallard...

... Mallard... Mute Swan...

... it's raining quite heavily now... Shit, listen to that thunder, it's like that thunder in Poltergeist... I hope Redesmere wasn't flooded over ancient native American sacred burial grounds... It's raining very heavily now... I think I'll go home...

30th May, Chorlton Water Park

I have been to Chorlton more than I've posted recently, just very little to say. Very little. Highlights have been a dead cow on top of an electricity pylon, a dead koi carp on top of the bird feeding station and a dead bear in the toilets.

Highlight today was a Sedge Warbler in Kenworthy Wood. Of course the word 'highlight' is a pretty subjective term, there were many sorts of highlights, for example seeing Whitethroats and Swifts is always a highlight, but if I was to say that seeing Whitethroats and Swifts was a highlight then you'd think I was incredibly lame, which I am, but I don't want you knowing that. Even though you do now. And you probably did anyway.

20th May

Weird. I woke up this morning with "sitting in the waiting room" going round and round in my head. I had no idea what was happening, just "sitting in the waiting room" being sung over and over in my head. After some mean Googling I worked out what it was, a song I hadn't heard for years. Which leads me to...

... bands who really should have become a lot more successful than they did part 1: Fugazi. They were fucking brilliant, but shit like Green Day and NOFX somehow stole all their limelight. Here is their masterpiece Waiting Room.

17th May, Dungeness & Thrupp

Oh God, it's happened again. Why can't I ever see any birds anymore? What's wrong with me? I'm fucking cursed, cursed I tell you! I have a feeling that my twitching days are coming to an abrupt end, because it's just, now how can I put this... hmmm... it's just so pathetically shit. Of course when things go to plan it's a different story, but they really aren't going to plan at the moment.

Dungeness power station. We really do know how fuck places up good and proper in this country.

The reason for going to Dungeness was to not see the Audouin's Gull that was found there the night before. Now in theory I suppose I should have seen the 2003 bird that was also at Dungeness, indeed I was only in Dorset at the time when news broke, but I just couldn't be bothered. Why? No idea, just couldn't be bothered. Basic apathy. If there was an award for world's worst twitcher I'd walk it every year. Christ, I'm not even sure if I'm going to bother going for this Black-browed Alabatross on Sula Sgeir in two weeks time. I think I know why I'm not going for that though, and it's largely based on the fact that at the moment I'm so poor that I couldn't even afford last month's issue of Forty Plus to have a good wa... A tip for anyone reading this: don't ever buy a house, and if you do then when the pricks doing the legal stuff tell you that the fee for conveyancing will be X amount tell them to go fuck themselves as the final bill will be at least double their initial quote. Oh, and when the bastards that do your homebuyer's survey... bollocks to this, it's far too boring to type. To be honest, I've become really, really boring over the last year or so; I was in the pub last night and I actually spoke to someone for over 15 minutes about the recent rise in interest rates, and worse still I was actually interested. Not once, all night long, did I stick a 50p coin sideways up my nose (that used to be my great pub party trick, and it's actually how I pulled Miss Cole), shit it, I didn't even have donner meat and chips on the way home and I didn't even throw up.

Dungeness. The very definition of the word bleak

I've got to say that I was pretty surprised and disappointed that this Audouin's Gull (the 3rd British record) only managed to attract a peak 'crowd' of 11 birders the next day. Everyone was obviously waiting on news, but remember that a bird has to get spotted by birdspotters and then phoned in before your nice shiny pager starts beeping with news of it being there. The Patch was watched all day long and we spread out and checked both the NNR area and the RSPB reserve, as well as lots of groups of gulls sat in the fields along the access road, but zilch (which, if you don't know, means nothing). At least it was warm.

A very cool looking Med Gull

The long, long, long, long, long journey back north was broken up first by fish and chips in Kidlington (and fucking marvellous they were) and then a nice evening stroll along the canal into Thrupp village to see the Scops Owl! I can't believe the little fella is back. And absolutely nothing has changed - the bird is roosting in the same tree and following the same patterns of behaviour, the weather was fantastic, the atmosphere very nice and friendly, Mr Evans was using a torch (sensibly) to let everyone have a look and Birdforum has again kicked off with the exact same nonsense that it was kicking off over last year. My own favourite moment of the evening came as we left and bumped into a local non-birding couple out for a stroll. They asked us if we were birdwatching, so we told them about the Owl, and holy shit you should have seen the look on the bloke's face - priceless! "It's back? You're joking?" I guess the sleepy village of Thrupp is in for another summer of psycho bastard twitchers breaking fences and pissing through letter boxes.

I've been told on many an occasion that I reached a literary high point with last year's birding diary entry about the Scops Owl. Apparently everything I've written since then has been completely shit in comparison. Well I'm sorry. I'm only fucking human... well, part human/part Mermaid/part Clement Atlee. Anyway, here it is for you again:

RAPE, MURDER AND DESTRUCTION: THE SCOPS OWL

11th-12th May

Whenever I go to Norfolk I always remember that classic Bob Hope joke from his movie Cheering up the Troops:

What's the difference between Lincolnshire and Norfolk? Nothing. Except Norfolk's house prices are more expensive. Other than that there's no difference whatsoever; out there it's all just one big endless expanse of pig farms, turnip fields and rampant inbreeding.

Of course nothing I've said so far about the fine folk of Norfolk is at all true (if I'm honest, probably nothing I've ever said in my entire life has been true, other than that time when I was 13 and suspended from school for allegedly taking a shit in the top drawer of Mr Kinshall's desk - it wasn't me you fucking bastard, it was Lester the simple boy whose mum had to write his address on his forehead so that if he got lost on the way home people could help him out), and I'm only saying all of this because I'm hideously jealous of people that live in Norfolk, and I'm even jealous of people who live in Lincolnshire.

It's not escaped my acute sense of awareness that it has become really trendy amongst birders nowadays to say that Norfolk is shit, it's nothing compared to what it used to be, I remember when Norfolk was amazing... etc etc etc... ad nauseum... blah blah blah... In reality, given half the chance, most people with even a miniscule amount of interest in birds would kill to live in Norfolk. Other than me, but that's mainly because I have no interest in birds at all, I'm only in it for the visits to cafes.

A messed up Garganey at Lakenheath Fen RSPB

I'm afraid I can't tell you much about the start to my weekend in Norfolk with Miss Cole, and Ma and Pa McKinney, mainly because it involved two top secret birds at a top secret location. In fact, the only way anyone can find out about these two top secret birds and where they are is to do a simple search on Google and then find a six-figure grid reference as the top search match - now that's secretive! What I can tell you is that it was flipping marvellous.

After the top secret start it was time for a super top secret drive to a location that used to be top secret but isn't anymore - Lakenheath Fen RSPB. It used to be top secret because selfish bastard eggers used to rob the Golden Oriole nests, but now the RSPB employ ex-SAS snipers on 24 hour watch to shoot any fucking bastards in the knee caps that get too close.

A not messed up Garganey at Lakenheath Fen RSPB

There was a Golden Oriole singing this morning, which was more than enough for us; you see, I reckon that Golden Orioles work better by ear than they do by eye, because that song is pretty special. Even if you do wait to see a Golden Oriole it is invariably a quick fly through, and then they just look like Green Woodpeckers, only not quite as good. Birding World once estimated that 97% of British birders have accidentally ticked Green Woodpecker as Golden Oriole, and that includes me. Nope, if you want to appreciate Golden Orioles then it's best done listening to them early in the morning during spring, and if you want to see one properly then look them up in a birdspotting book.

A singing Sedge Warbler. Note intelligent use of the classical golden section when composing the photograph. Also note mega use of sharpening tool in Photoshop

So with two super top secret birds, singing Golden Oriole and a bucket load of list fodder, Norfolk was yet again proving that it is still Britain's premier birdspotting destination... after Cornwall... and Shetland... and Scilly... and Dorset... and Devon.. no, I'm just kidding, Staffordshire is the best place for birding in the world. Is anyone still reading? I don't think I would be by now. But for those of you that have got this far thanks, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

The first ever football match I went to see was Stoke v Norwich in 1986 at Stoke's old Victoria Ground. The final score was 0-0. It was a sign of apathetic things to come. I'm not really interested in football now, though I suppose you don't really care. And neither do I. There's a point to all of this. Possibly. The point is that after Lakenheath we went to Norwich and to the edge of the rather plush University of East Anglia - talk about how t'other half live! Jesus, compare that to student life in Manchester - there wasn't a shard of bullet shattered skull or a dying tramp anywhere in sight. Crikey, I tell you, I wish I'd gone to UEA now, only I couldn't have coped with all the sand and those strict laws on alcohol (and that is a very very funny joke, and anyone who disagrees can fuck right off). And when people drive past you in Norwich they don't stop and throw eggs out of the car windows, oh no, they stop and politely ask what you are looking at, and then when you tell them that you're waiting to see a rare bird called an Iberian Chiffchaff they seem really interested. We didn't see the Iberian Chiffchaff. Though we didn't really try very hard.

A Whimbrel. Totally unconnected to what I'm about to tell you about...

...which is unfortunately top secret again. Anyway, the top secret birds we had come to see at this top secret location were great. But whilst we were there Pa McKinney shouted, "What the fucking shit is that? Seriously, look at that fucking thing. What the fuck is that?" (now you see where I get my blue language from). But he was right, fucking hell - a Black Kite! Nice. We quickly bolted around to another group of birdspotters to let them know and were treated with not exactly disdain but more hideous contempt; this is absolutely true: a Grey Heron flew past and one of the cunts we were telling about our great Black Kite actually asked me if that wasn't the bird I thought was the Kite. To be fair, he was probably right, but there's a healthy degree of scepticism and then there's just... err... well, then there's just being a total fucking cunt. But that's life.

Cley-next-the-Sea. The world's best windmill

The coast was calling, and it was time for the inevitable walk along the east bank at Cley talking about how much better it used to be than it is now. It's impossible to go to Cley without mentioning at least three times per minute how much better Cley used to be. Sadly, it's kind of true, with the once fantastic Arnold's Marsh today holding only a single summery white-headed Turnstone and measly numbers of the usually swarming Sandwich Terns. The guardian spirit of the east bank is probably rolling in his grave nowadays. Still, it sure beats being in Manchester.

Looking west over Cley NWT

Day 1 was concluded at sexual perversion hotspot Salthouse Heath for a mega Nightingale - which is another bird that works better by ear than eye - and then a twilight wander on the west marshes at Cley to get shit up by a scary Barn Owl, a bird that definitely works better by eye.

One day all reserves will be like this: superb facilities, ample parking, an excellent selection of books and a reserve totally devoid of birds!

What with the annoying westerlies, other than the somewhat less than mouth watering prospect of another trip to try and score with the Iberian Chiffchaff, there was little prospect of birding glory. The new visitor centre at Cley NWT seemed worthy of inspection.

What? WHAT? WHAT? I can't hear you over the fucking cappuccino maker

I suppose this is the 21st century for you; people just want decent coffee over decent birds nowadays. Yeah, yeah, I know all that stuff about making places more accessible for the general public, okay that's fine, but there's a worrying trend emerging at reserves of making the facilities and all the extra things, like information boards and all that interactive learning bollocks that nobody ever gives a flying fuck about, seem far more interesting than just getting off your arses and watching the birds themselves. What's more interesting, reading an information board telling you that you might see Water Boatmen skimming across the surface of some shitty pond (give. a. fuck.) or actually using your own two eyes and watching the nature and stuff? I don't know, maybe I'm not cut out for this century. I think I need to go back to wearing Vans trainers, and combat trousers with a wallet chain hanging out of the pocket making you look really hard and cool. Fucking hell, apparently smoking and body piercings aren't even cool anymore. And I've also heard that the kidz don't even dig Shakin' Stevens now!

Miss Cole sleeping in the North Hide at Cley NWT. Appalling behaviour

I'm being really negative, but the truth is that I love Norfolk and I loved this weekend. I don't mean that I love it in a pervy way - like I don't want to get Norfolk's stuff all over my fingers - Norfolk and myself have a platonic relationship. I guess when it's all said and done I'm just a fucking twat. No, you don't need to disagree with me just to make me feel better. What? You're not disagreeing with me? Well fuck you all then.

A Bee-eater quite nearby in Langham should have had us tearing off to see it, but none of them ever stay long enough to get there in time so we didn't bother. Guess what: this one did. Every trip to Norfolk has to finish at Titchwell RSPB. Don't argue, it's the law - I don't make the rules I just follow them, though really reluctantly as I can't stem my lust for rebellion. I really love Titchwell. No I really love Titchwell. No really. Titchwell should get a knighthood for being so damn good.

Grey Heron at Titchwell RSPB. Make up your own fucking caption. Can you do anything by yourselves? Go on, just use your imagination. Jesus, do you want me to wipe your arses for you?

7th May, Grafham Water, Paxton Pits, Freiston Shore RSPB, Penistone

Wilson's Phalathrope

It's all swings and roundabouts this twitching thing, isn't it? Hang on, that's not a question it's a statement: it's all swings and roundabouts this twitching thing, isn't it. That's better. Today was one of those days that restores my faith in travelling X number of stupid miles to watch rare birdies, even though it did entail getting up at 4.30am to meet yearlisting maniac Jason Atkinson at the Parrs Wood entertainment complex at 5am to then journey half way around the world in just under a day - cheers Jase!

Wilson's Phalarope and a dead Buzzard, which now looks rather worryingly like a dead Rough-legged Buzzard.

Grafham Water is big. I'd never been there before. It's big, as I already told you at the beginning of the paragraph. Just thought I'd mention it again in case you weren't concentrating. So as I said, Grafham Water is big. Though I guess 'big' is pretty subjective. It's not as big as Rutland Water - now that's really big. I've been there loads of times. It's really big. Bigger than Grafham Water. But Grafham Water is still big. Follow? I reckon it's time for a new paragraph...

... that's better. Oh, hang on...

... no, that's better. Fuck it, you only live once...

... now that really is better. So Grafham Water is big. A lot bigger than I expected. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, unless you have a phobia of large bodies of water. I don't, so it's not a problem. But anyway, there's been a Wilson's Phalarope at Grafham Water for a few days on the lagoons in the south east corner. What with his Phalarope and his Storm Petrel (not forgetting his Plover and Warbler), Alexander Wilson had some pretty fucking cool birds named after him, so obviously they had to give him a bag of shit like Wilson's Snipe to kind of balance things out in the ornithological hall of fame, otherwise people with crap birds like Edward Blyth - look at his shit brown Reed Warbler and Pipit (birders' birds, which usually equates to being dull, characterless and wank) - would have been seriously pissed off. Even though he's dead.

All Phalaropes are just totally outstanding birds. Especially ones that hang around with Shelducks:

I got some video of the Phalarope spinning around clockwise like a mad bastard, but for some reason I can't upload it - end of the world! Also at Grafham Water I had a new scope tick today in the form of a Garden Warbler, as I'm pretty sure I've never seen a Garden Warbler through a telescope before. Nice bird, great song, shame about the dull photo:

After enough Phalarope fun to last a thousand years, we walked back along the path to the purring of a Turtle Dove and more singing Warblers than you could imagine, or not as may be the case. Grafham Water rocks, it rocks hard.

Not far from Grafham Water is Paxton Pits, possibly my all time favouritest birdspotting place in the whole world, after the other ones. Nightingales numbering into their millions, with Marshall stacks turned up to 11, blasted out hardcore Hendrix inspired solos from within the dense blossomy bush tree things, and a Cuckoo rocked out in the distance. It was just like being at Woodstock, only without all the dirty fucking hippy bastards.

Well what could possibly top a Wilson's Phalarope and a trip to Paxton Pits? How about a Pallas's Warbler:

Found at Freiston Shore RSPB late in the morning, it turned out to be a great little fucker of a bird, so great that I even managed to get a photograph through my binoculars, though admittedly it's a shit photograph. Where do these annoyingly-positioned-branches always come from?

Well what could possibly top a Wilson's Phalarope, a trip to Paxton Pits and a Pallas's Warbler. How about some Dotterel? And how about some Dotterel near to a place with the word penis in its name? Yes, I can honestly say that today was a damn effing good day out.

2 of the 3 Dotterels at Penistone

***

PS Seeing as you're all so brainy and knowledgeable and stuff, can any of you tell me what exactly the Guns n Roses song Mr.Brownstone was all about? It's been bugging me for a while. I presume it's a metaphor for something, but I don't know what; maybe a metaphor for something like baking sponge cakes, or taking the bin out.

4th May, Chorlton Water Park

Wahey, my first Swift of 2007. About time too. There was a huge spring fall of aythya today with 15 Tufted Ducks, and the Sedge Warbler was singing again on Barlow. Anything else of note? Hmmm... one of the Heron chicks has left its nest... anything else? Nope.

Well you'd better make the most of these fascinating posts from Chorlton because they're going to be finishing for good soon. That time of year has arrived when, for some totally mental reason, we move house again... and again... and again... Only this time it's a proper big move - relocation, relocation, relocation! Out of Manchester! AARRGGHH!! So where will it be? Shetland? The Isles of Scilly? The north Norfolk coast? Ecuador? New Delhi? Newark-on-Trent? Doncaster? Not quite, but I'll leave you in suspense for now...

... I bet you can't fucking wait.

1st May, Chorlton Water Park

Visible migration on Barlow Tip today scored me 4 Goosanders flying over west, also a flock of 25 Jackdaws was a tiny bit odd. But just a tiny bit. Heron chicks are now huge, practically fully grown, and they'll surely be leaving the nest quite soon.

tommckinney1979