“A burst on me banjo”

Funny, 26 years since he died and my dad can still make me laugh out loud.
The dual carriageway was empty in the bright February sun as the lights changed from red to green, my foot hit the accelerator and just kept pressing on down while the guages went off to the right.
He used to do the same, until reined in by the world and responsibilities.
He always justified succumbing to the gods of speed by explaining he was “just having a burst on me banjo”.
Officer.
True, dad was never going to go any faster than 50mph in a Morris Minor full of wife, three kids and associated paraphernalia, but the joy of life and unfailing principle of disobedience was always there, bubbling under – and he used to love letting it out.
I was reminded of his driving as I headed back from Crosby yesterday, cruising slightly faster than 50mph after a meeting at the marine park.
I checked out the water before I left.
Tufties and two Goldeneyes were blown around on the small boating lake, while the Skylarks and Snow Bunting, though present, were keeping a low profile in the strong winds and eye-shredding sandstorm at the top end of the lake.

Plenty of Blackwits (well, 30+) sheltering on the damp grasslands, with Oystercatchers and common gull sp.
Calmer today of course, with a few alba wags, mipits and small parties of Goldfinch passing the tower at Ainsdale, and flowering Common Whitlow Grass.
Later on, there were still five Bewick’s Swans feeding on the water off Nels Hide at Marshside.

I wanted to catch up with the Bewick’s as they are so scarce here now, but clearly not so badly that I was prepared to get any closer than the Hesketh Rd platform, where I zapped the swans full zoom in the gathering gloom at 5pm-ish.
A flock of 17 Fieldfares dropped into the tallest trees of the SSSI ditch, presumably to roost as I pulled away into the Friday evening commuting traffic – no chance of a burst on me banjo there then.