Whoop, whoop... shovel it!

A week off patch in County Clare at this stage in proceedings is perhaps not the best of plans.

I didn't book it, of course, but in the interest of familial harmony I had to be there. So, with Seppy and Royzah creeping disturbingly into contention, off patch for a week I went.

Scenic shenanigans at the Cliffs of Moher

It was a pleasant enough break. Clare is pretty scenic, all things considered. Dipping a tawny pipit on Loop Head, watching a frantic merlin terrorising red admiral butterflies, and seeing a group of five whooper swans whopper schwans (Seppy enforced "correction) fly over the holiday gaff were probably the highlights. Oh, and squillions of redwings.

When the swans flew over I remember thinking "shame they never fly over my patch".

So imagine my surprise back home yesterday morning when, on my way to the car to buy firelighters (it's that time of year again), I heard a trumpety honking overhead, and looked up to see another five (count 'em) whoppers flying over my garden. What are the chances?

Photo swiped from d'interwebs natch; I tend not to take the camera out to buy firelighters

Add them to the female shoveler that was dicking around with a posse of mallard on the lake the day before yesterday and you have two full-fat patch ticks in as many days... and more importantly a bumped up total of 101.53%.

Which is just as well given how close things are getting at the top...

...and breathe!

This little piggy

Scanning the scenery from the garden this morning bagged me a peregrine going hell for leather, seemingly in a hurry to be somewhere else. Also had lovely views of a soon-to-be mummy fox not far from home (must remember to lock up the chickens early from now on) as I tramped around the patch in search of the aforementioned "dead cert" reed bunting.

Fieldfare practically vermin proportions -- at least 8 million on patch at the moment, outnumbering the redwing about 10 to one. Literally couldn't lift the bins without clocking at least a dozen of the blighters. Bloody foreigners!

Reed bunting though was proving a tad more elusive.

A sudden squeeling from a nearby reed bed was good news though; either someone was surreptitiously slaughtering baby pigs, or I had water rail on patch... and several of them. Reed bunting duly gave itself up too, bringing up the magic half-century, and taking me to 60.61%.

Happy days! Almost made up for having to power wash the patio when I got home!