I have had the worst cold ever for the last few days and I've had enough. This morning I coughed up something the colour of burnt golden syrup which a. knocked on the inside of my teeth to get out; and b. probably possessed a soul.
Anyway, being the unstoppable birding machine that I am, after a morning pestering Siskins, I Lemsipped to the max and pottered off down to Goldcliff. Apart from a Chiff calling in one of the hedgerows there was not the slightest sniff of a proper migrant. Did experience a mini-predatorfest though with Merlin, Marsh Harrier, Peregrine and Sprawk all putting in appearances. The Merlin chased its potential passerine prey halfway to Newport, repeatedly stooping at, and missing, its dinner until lost to view somewhere Nashwards. The wader highlights included 7 Golden Plover on the first lagoon and the long-staying Spotted Redshank and Greenshank.
Managed to get back just in time to start feeling like shit again; blogging does not help eye burn so I shall now away to the medicine cupboard via the drinks cabinet, I feel a brandy/night nurse cocktail coming on. I wonder whether I can invent a concoction that induces Sand Martin/Wheatear/Garganey hallucinations?