Where all great dreams begin
I had a right royal day off today. For once I ignored the lure of the laptop and didn't even think about the mounting workload that I am generating. My day started at 8am on my patch, The Scrubs, under ominously grey skies enthused and encouraged by my post Saturday football trip to Walthamstow in east London to clock the lingering Dusky Warbler.
I endured a relatively long wait to catch up with the bird and I didn't actually clap eyes on it until after 4pm in the last of the evening's sun rays. Thereafter, we were subjected to icy rain that sometimes morphed into full blown sleet. I had reasonable, though usually fleeting views of the Dusky although I had clear views of its pale legs and yellowish feet on a couple of occasions - obviously different to the black legs displayed by is accompanying Chiffchaff mates.
Before the sky opened up this morning, I had counted over 25 Meadow Pipits and crucially, a single Skylark that was momentarily roused from the grassland. Could it be prospecting?
Rain stopped play, so I came home and spent the vast majority of the day drifting in and out of the world, horizontal in my lovely warm bed. For those who know me, this is a truly rare event akin to the rediscovery of an Eskimo Curlew, and if it ever happens it's either because I'm sick, on holiday or both!