The standard is dipping a little.

It was Lizzie's seventh birthday yesterday, involving a sleepover at our house and a midnight feast at 5 in the morning. AND that means she was out birding before me. Look, she started my notebook off, with her observation of a Seagull.

I know. I've TRIED to explain about Seagulls not being Seagulls. I've gone all Monty Python on her with a slide show and everything. No 1. The Kittiwake. The.... Kittiwake. But between you and me I think she thinks all this birdspotting is a bit, well, geeky. Heavens! Goddamnit to hell, she's probably right. By the time I wandered out, it was a dry dull day, which got wild in the afternoon with the wind and the rain and the screaming. I found that Lizzie was right - there were some Seagulls outside. And more on the beach. Down the track to the beach, it was deathly quiet, except for the peeping of a Small Brown Job. A strong SE onshore wind, brought a flosk of 23 Pretendy Seagulls alternately sat on the water and checking out their nest cliffs. There was a Grebey-ducky Thing in the bay, and some Peeps rummaging among the seaweed. I spent 20 minutes scoping offshore to little effect, so walked round Cran Hill, not seeing any birds but laughing in the face of the weather like an unhinged person would. Saw some Crows, and a Hawk, came home and made soup.

I wish I'd saved Boulmer Birder's deleted post. One should NEVER post stuff on the internet after drinking. :-)