Sweary golfers

I’m very much in the Mark Twain school when it comes to golf, but even I was surprised to discover that the prime objective is actually to get the little white ball into the SSSI ditch lagoon, not in the wee hole by the flag.
Several times.
Plop! Plop! Plop!
The air was blue enough to make the Greater ‘Pecker above the public footpath through Hesketh Golf Course blush as I walked on this morning.
Sweary golfers notwithstanding I thought I’d get out early to enjoy the day before it got too hot.
But I wasn’t so early that Stuart Darbyshire and Pete Allen weren’t there before me, watching two Spotted Flycatchers as they zipped about gorging on the large amounts of midges swarming around the willows.
We enjoyed the flycatchers for twenty minutes or so as they darted about, inevitably reflecting on their crash as breeding birds, along with so many others.

Percy Sledge numbers still way down on previous years, but as I have a medically recognised allergic condition when it comes to bunting and confetti, I decided to stay out at Marshside for a bit longer, even when the day started to heat up and the aroma of “Gawd bless you ma’am” lay heavy in the air.
Just one or two Dunlins (including a small, small-billed bird) with the dozing Blackwits from Nels and the halfway screen, a new Chiffchaff singing by the Sandplant and egrets everywhere.

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