counting coots

I like birds but I'm not overly keen on people in general. So why produce a blog about something that you like for the 'enjoyment' of something that you might not? I don't know the answer to that, and I'm not entirely sure why I do it or why this blog exists at all some days. I know that when I started it, I had no idea that it would end up like this! Should a small change in my personal circumstances occur, I wouldn't have the time to do it anyway.





The whole thing seems to have taken a life of it's own, it's a monster that needs to be fed postings, photos, anecdotes, misspellings, swearing and witticisms on an almost daily basis or it's fatbirder ranking will fall. So what? Initially the birds and the patch naturally produced subjects to write about, but lately I reckon that there has been a fair bit of barrel scraping for the sake of feeding the monster. This is not how it should be. So rather than look for things to write about, I'll let the subjects find me and ultimately spend a little more time in the field, watching birds. The quality of the posts may increase, or they may not. The fatbirderism will fall, and I can then take a perverse pride in seeing how low it can get.





So if you come here and nothing has changed for a day or two, worry not. I have not fallen off the end of the blogoweb, I am not dieing from pig fever, I just haven't seen anything worth writing about. Which for my usual patch is quite the norm. Having said all that, I may be dining out for a fortnight on Britain's first Willet by this time tomorrow...

And for the dude in Missouri that was looking for a financial institution in London and ended up on this blog, the bank you were looking for is called Coutts. Not coots. Coutts.

A Cadana Gose doing fucky scary huge aaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggrrrrrrhhhhhhhh!