Given a week of perusing the net, watching TV and drifting in and out of conversations with the girlfriend and other human beings, it is slowly dawning that, whilst on holiday, I missed several happenings of monumental monumentalness:
1. The Avonmouth Glossy Ibis - given the location, this was much worse than the Bobolink;
2. Punkbirder Flycatchergate - the nice voices in my head say "It's all part of the game...", the evil voices in my head butt in with "... hence Pipitgate, Duckgate, Warblergate,..." [Sits in darkened room, gently rocking back and fore, "Listen to the nice voices, ignore the nasty voices, listen to the nice voices, ignore the nasty voices..."];
3. Reservoir Cats 'misidentification-of-American-warbler-whilst-taking-the-piss-for-the-misidentification-of-an-American-warblergate', a finer example of petard related self-hoistery has rarely been seen; and
4. The Glamorgan Bobolink - I am strangely relaxed about this one, must be ailing for something.
Naturally, given even the cursory appreciation of probability theory I possess, many more happenings of, frankly, bears-shit-in-the-woods predictability also occurred:
1. Precisely no rarities were found in Gwent;
2. Freddie Flintoff's brain finally realised that Freddie Flintoff's body had retired from cricket;
3. Liverpool (as hamstrung by Messers Hicks and Gillett) played 5, won 1, drew 2 and lost 2;
4. Surrey ended up third from bottom in the County Championship; and
5. World peace did not break out.
To all these I say "Meh".