Over the last few days at Orgreave I've seen very little, some Common Terns, Common Sandpiper, Wheatear and some more of those crap gulls.
So far this autumn has all the makings of a real duff one and apparently this has been the worstest one so far in 25 years. Worstest isn't a word I know, but it is far more descriptive than worse and more polite than wank. However with a chance of something eastish (also not a proper word) at the end of the week we can but hope for a few drift migrants at least on the coast. Meanwhile up north Rob has become that frustrated that he is counting street furniture. In the east the Punks are in disarray and seem to be bogged down with real life. The Leicester Llama is sulking in his chair and plotting a 9/11 style hijack of Shetland bound Flybe planes and no doubt the lads at Spurn will have by now have drained the cellar of the Crown and Anchor and will be too pissed to find owt when it does turn eastish. Meanwhile I continue to write this shit and tick off the days leading to Shetland - where I too can count the street furniture and grip off Rob with flight views of grit bins etc during the, no doubt, violent NW gales.