On being last

Despite the name of this blog, I'm currently lying in last place in the unofficial annual Wanstead listing competition that Nick always wins. This is both very satisfying and quite worrying. To be fair this has been threatening for some time, I just don't get out of it as much as I used to. But at the same time I know that once I get into a groove I do start enjoying it, albeit in a perverse kind of way as particularly at this time of year it really is same old same old. For instance I have yet to see a Chaffinch in the UK, which is pathetic in the extreme, yet also quite exciting - how long could I string not seeing a Chaffinch out for? I mean, could I get to February? That would be sensational!

As predicted my Morocco list is longer than my Wanstead (and hence UK) list this year. And with another trip to Morocco on the horizon, this could easily continue. I would have addressed this pitiful state of affairs this weekend, but unfortunately I have been struck down with a highly vicious (and I do mean highly vicious) tummy complaint, which means I have been confined to my bed since Friday evening. Whether or not this is some African gift I have no idea, but I was quite looking forward to going to Hove where that Phalarope has been hanging around at point blank range. Not because I wanted to take pictures of it you understand, but because I wanted to berate all the pillocks that turned up in camo clothing to photograph it in a children's play area. Unfortunately I have had to miss out on this singular delight.

Tragically, I will probably be well enough to go to work tomorrow, and so my entire weekend will have been a complete write-off. The only saving grace is that by only consuming approximately four pieces of penne and a slice of toast since Friday lunchtime, I have managed to shed almost half a stone, and it ain't over yet if you get my drift. At least I'm also getting quite a lot of time in which to go through the images from Morocco. Illness aside, this also explains my reluctance to go and slog the patch or compete with a bunch of camotwats in Sussex. A load of boring birds that I see all the time, with a load of obnoxious dog-walkers thrown into the mix, or just me and a Great Grey Shrike on a sunny hillside with views to die for? Then again, maybe I am currently dying for those views....

Guess how much camo clothing this required?