One that got away

After tea, I was sitting in front of the telly, burping occasionally. OK, frequently. Diane was out in the back garden, mixing cement for the patio... hard for her, I know, but I need somewhere new to bury the bodies of my enemies. Anyway, something flew over that struck her as odd, so she called out to me 'Master, master! What's that flying over the house?' Now whereas Diane wouldn't claim to be a top birder, she does know something a bit different when it flies past (e.g. Spotted Flycatcher recently, grrrr....), so I roused myself to upright a bit faster than my normal Jabba-the-Hutt-type progression and saw what she was getting at, moving away from the house at speed and sending the House Martins into a panic. Flapflapflap gllliiideee flapflapflap and everything about it was Hobby! I ran for my nockies, but knew I wasn't going to be quick enough (I *knew* I shouldn't have covered them with tar, locked them in an underground filing cabinet and fed the keys to the cat. Then buried the cat.) By the time I got them out and me out the door, the bird was gone. Alas and bum!