At almost the same time, other circuits on board this frankly awesome piece of electronic tin-cannery, were placing repeated voice calls to a certain dead tap dancer who resides close by, who was at this time feverishly clutching the controller of his gaming device in his pudgy fists, determined to slot yet another virtual goal past the vanquished losers on his virtual fifa champions league final and emerge victorious, blissfully unaware of the brown bonanza nestled only metres away from his fat ass on the sofa. or something.
Eventually, after celebrating winning the final with the usual shirt-over-head, arms-windmilling-furiously, cat-scattering jubilation, Big Royzah (for it is he) remembered to have a look at his phone, where he saw the 9 missed calls from the T2006, and reached for his bins.
With the bigs guns assembled, it was only a matter of time before the afore-mentioned Blyth's Reed was fully assimilated, grilled, nailed, and papped by the gathering masses. The rest is, as they say, is history, and Old (ahem, New) Snowy could be winging his way back norf after two years resting on Seppy's mantelpiece - we shall indeed see.
Here's a snap of a snap of a snap that someone else took of what is presumed to be the Don bird....
|A blyth's reed warbler, yesterday (Thanks to the photographer for the photo)|