Thursday, 4 December 2014

Late in the year..............

........but still plenty of time for moth-trapping.

Crocidosema plebejana taken this morning at Murlough NNR - 1st record for Northern Ireland. Another case of 'Get in there!'

Now, many of you may be wondering why this moth is dead - this has got nothing to do with me. It travelled here from many thousands of miles away in search of a Not Interesting Boring Association Pyramid Scheme Bird Report. He'd been paying a tenner a year for the last 6 years, sucking in every lie the Larry McGarry's were feeding him. Being a micro moth with a teeny weeny brain he was easily taken in and took what Captain Stinko (Human Excrement Reservoir Specialist) said in good faith. When he made contact to tell them he was coming to Northern Ireland to collect his outstanding bird reports they emailed back with a simple '£10' reply as usual - yet he still refused to think badly of what on the outside seemed like good missionary-type folk. A simple google search of 'evilnobirdsmoneystealingmcgarrys' would have saved all that effort. I found him languishing in the corner of my moth trap this morning, I was initially alerted by the sobbing sounds underneath a battery hen eggbox and asked what the matter was. He (I later found out that his name was Jimmy Bird, which is an odd name for a moth) explained that, after a long and difficult journey, he had arrived in our noble country (known the world over for its Veda bread invented in England) to seek out the famous Worshipful Masters of the McGarry. He had the extra money they requested and required only a copy of their legendary report. I tried to break it to him gently and explained that their report was indeed legendary - it did not exist. I tried to console him with tales of how Derk the Berk (who now lives in Scotland) provides 5 years worth of bird reports for free (minus all the shit bits). After a short period of vacant reflection he topped himself. I have never told a lie in my life and I'm not about to start now.




We could have talked it through, had a rational conversation, gathered up some rudimentary weapons like armalites and rpgs (the common or garden everyday stuff you find lying about in fields around here) and assaulted the evil nobirds fortress (which is shaped like a giant wood duck). With some proper planning we could have mustered several hundred peasants with pitchforks to throw themselves mercilessly upon the unchanged swathes of irrelevant text concerning common and breeding resident birds, allowing us to exploit an opening between the disingenuous photocredits attributed to obviously shite pics, to quickly wade through the wide plains of non-existent references. Most of the evil nobirds would surrender quickly (being utter coward yellow-belly maker-uppers) and spill the beans on all the other divs - harry, barry, larry, garry (the funny one) and Capt. Stinko. Five elderly men, with the combined personality attributes of a bag of soggy humous crossed with a jar of hernias, would be tried, swiftly duffed up, given wedgies and exiled to the ToysRus bargain bucket section. Jimmy could get his tenner back, fly back home and Northern Ireland would be clean again. Alas I never got to tell him snf. snf. Selfish git.

Here's a golden-oldie xmas tune. five sweaty fingers on the dashboard