It always strikes me as unfair, or at the very least cosmically ironic, that the older and better you get at bad behaviour, the longer it takes you to recover.
So while Saturday night was great, yesterday was all a bit of a fuzzy blur.
You could almost hear the celestial laughter.
Personally I blame The Rezillos.
Better today though, so I headed north for round two with the Fylde’s invisible Snow Buntings.
True to form, there was no sign of them on the dog-raddled beach north of the sandplant at St Anne’s (inevitably they had been there earlier in the day) and after two hours of cursing pooches, I took a break.
Time for a short drive inland to Lytham Moss, where a Todd’s Canada Goose had been lurking with a few thousand Pinkies.
Presumably it was last week’s bird from our side of the Great Divide, so it was certainly worth the ride.
But there were no geeses there, only birders, including Mickey Boy Stocker. They had thousand yard stares and no Todd’s.
The day was hardly shaping up as planned, so I drove back to the beach for a final crack at the Snow Bunts.
After all they’re a bit like Frosties – when you know there’s some there, you’ve just gotta have ’em.
No sign again, but after walking the length of the place, I glanced back just before leaving at 2.40pm (always a good idea) and there was a distant Snow Bunting sitting like a discarded potato out on the sands.
It scurried back into the dunes as I approached.
I circled round behind it and saw both birds on a ridge fairly close, before they ran back out onto the beach as the afternoon light began to fade. Mike joined me and we watched the sneaky little weasels for 15 minutes or so.
Possibly the most devious Snow Buntings I’ve come across in a long while – these critters can run AND they can hide…