Monthly Archives: May 2014

Classic cars , crazy coots and collapsed chassis

Hello Peepsters   I didn’t post yesterday having spent the day in Deal and Walmer unable to smudge the wuzzoes.  Mind you, Walmer was a delight with the large green in front of the Strand Straza chockoblocko with classic lah de dahs. At first I didn’t notice they were classic because they were so familiar. I’d forgotten that there’s no longer a Vauxhall Cresta, a common enough kipper when I was a young man. Oh dear, ano domini innit.  I forget I’m an old Artful Dodger. When I’d got over the shock that these familiar kipper and bloaters were now classics, I enjoyed looking them over.  To amplificate the pleasure, there was a splendid brass band on the bandstand giving it plenty. After perusing the haddocks in the paddocks, memsahib and Yours T carried on along the Walmer/Deal promenade, past the pier and over the frog & toad to restaurant 81, who do the best set lunch in East Kent (in my humberlo opinion) for a sensible price. We were joined by our pals James and Joey for a very enjoyable lunch, then took a leisurely perambulation back along the seafront to Quack Towers. Hence a Fat Boy of Peckham luncheon but no wuzzoes Barnabied. This morning I was pleased to make my way to Restharrow Scrape after a hairy drive along the Ancient Crovis avoiding the ridiculous tadpoles which are becoming out of control. I do hope The Fat Controller (named Sir Topham Hatt in the USA) comes along soon and sorts something out or there’s going to be a good few splenetic drivers convulsing with cataclysmic collapsed chassis, innit.  Anyways dear peeps, I managed for your delectation a smudge of the rapidly growing coot, who’s now turning yellow with a grey bib, a whizzing shelduck and a little egret in a kerfuffle with a great black-backed gull!  Hasta la doodah doods             x       i jedi de Quackers






The tadpoles are back and nastier

Howdy Chaps/Chapettes    trust y’all hunky doodah?  It was so miserable early this morning that I nearly stayed at home. Later, as the weather improved, I girded my loins missus, fed Kaiboshki and took to the road in the trusty kipper.  Oy Vey, the Ancient Crovis is double treacherous now because the Mark Twain has left the newly formed tadpoles disguised as puddles. With Kaiboshki navigating (giving small barks) we tentatively tippy toenailed around the lurking and cavernous ambuscades.  Arriving at last at Restharrow Scrape was extremely pleasant, with a gentle southerly thin skinned skimming over the Neptune’s daughter. Not too many rarities or megas but plenty of lady lucks and the disputatious and bellicose coots and their none too pulchritudinous offspring! I enclose another smudge of one of the baby coots (I know I posted yesterday but they’re so fascinating I can’t stop snapping ’em) I was pleased to get a nice headshot of Mother McShoveler who is a real beauty (in my eyes anyway) and also of her kinder, a cute little poser ‘giving it plenty’.  hasta la pastarooney  x  i jah de Q





Crimson Clover

Hi Doods     It was quiet but extremely pleasant on the insulating tape this morning.  I was surprised to see the water had gone up again, nearly an inch and a half. It was the deluge of Wednesday night. Apparently it rained a month’s rain in one day!  I’m curious to know what the scrape’s going to look like when the water eventually falls. Anyways peeps, there were plenty of youngsters whizzing about with their protective parents, and as usual the coots were being unnecessarily belligerent, especially with the innocent tufties. I counted 11 coot babies on the Cabernet along with 2 broods of mallard and the shovelers little team of 10. I enclose a Barnaby of a baby coot who does a rather good impression of Groucho Marx. I also enclose a smudge of Master Kaibosh because I like the cut of his jib, and I don’t think you want to see another smudjo of a tufty, lapwing or oystercatcher as much as I like smudging ’em.  Incidentally, there was quite some excitement when our intrepid leader, Ian the warden, discovered a crimson clover which hasn’t been seen in this part of Kent for yonks. I enclose my smudge of the crimson clover courtesy of Ken Chapman.  hasta la pasta     x  i jedi de Quack 





Copious coots on the Cabernet

Salut tout le monde peeps   The weather seems to be cooling off a tad at the moment. Visibility wasn’t too Clever Trevor when I left Quack Towers this morning. In fact a mist was lying on the third degree as I drove along Beach Road towards Sandwich and the dreaded tadpoled Ancient Crovis.  I do hope the council come along soon and fill them in. Traversing that treacherous thoroughfare I noticed a large 4 x 4 stuck in deep tadpoles with mud halfway up its enormous boots at Dickson’s Corner.  Off Roader? I don’t think so.  Should’ve gone to Specsavers, innit. Anyway peeps, it was very quiet on the scrape apart from hordes of coot babies whizzing about.  Also an abundance of ducks which is nice to see.  Mrs Shoveler was doing the rounds followed by her 10 ducklings and Mrs Mallard still has 9 babes after a couple of weeks, which is a good sign. A little grebe has now produced a baby (could be more) which poked its head out from her back feathers.  A lapwing settled for a couple of minutes in front of the Jeckle and posed for its portrait which I enclose for your delectation. I took a shot of a couple of the coot youngsters being fed by a parent. What greedy little brutes they are. I know I posted the shoveler duck yesterday but here’s one taken this morning with the 10 ducklings.   A bientot   x i jah de Q




She can hear a tambourine across a thousand miles of sand and the shuffling camels feet as they lead the caravan

Yo Peepsters  It was quiet on the Cabernet this morning with Lady Shoveler trailing her ten little ducklings behind her. I enclose a smudge of mum and six of her brood for your delectation. As I can’t deliver the red kite that flew over Bomber Command (SBBOT) which flew too high as I fumbled for my smudge box, I’ll leave you with an ode I wrote a few years back.  Hasta la badger  x Lord Budjer, Earl of Quack




She cooks her eggs in a small ragged tin

That used to hold beans, with a sharp metal rim

Her hair is the colour of ripe barleycorn

That is blown by a wind, from a Norse Viking’s horn

Those dark gypsy eyes are three shades of green

Which shutter the soul, a messaline screen

She thinks she is a gypsy queen


Following the sun, riding a brightly coloured palanquin

Her heart always yearns for a southbound caravan

To travel a desert, an ocean of sand, to journey forever

To a far distant land

She can hear a tambourine across a thousand miles of sand

And the shuffling camels feet, as they lead the caravan

And on a starry night you can hear the lady sing

To a hundred clapping hands, and a Cossack violin

As her tiny slippered feet leap around the bright camp fire

She dances to the song of a laughing gypsy choir

Nomadic lust swims in her blood

And on a full moon she gets lost in a flood

That wild gypsy girl races after a moon

That’s fallen from sight and won’t be back soon

A bright shiny disc has dropped through the clouds

Like smoky grey curtains made from funeral shrouds

The wild gypsy girl chases after a dream

Wears tiny silk sandals to skip a moonbeam

She keeps her possessions in a lizard skin case

A rich paisley scarf and a blouse made from lace

One night after love I begged her to stay

She was gone by the dawn, climbing a rainbow of papier-mâché

“I don’t care what the world has to say

Ha Ha” she laughs, turns around, walks away

All that is left in the sad morning light

Is the scent of her perfume, a fragrant delight

Patchouli,     honeysuckle,       lavender and musk

They are breaking my heart as they call in the dusk

I know that someday gypsy girls must settle down

But feel deep in my heart,   I won’t be around


(The poem should end here, but for betrayal of chauvinistic trail left by little curly tail – JdeQ)

Although that girl journeys from Nepal to Hindu Kush

It’s really in her mind; she stays home in Shepherd’s Bush

All the adventures take place in her head

She has never been to Kathmandu

Indian take-aways have to do instead


Yo Peeps   C’est Scorchio innit.  What a lovely day.  I met up with 2 of the Budjer Boys in the Jeckle today, Bernie and Duncan.  Master Kaibosh was pleased and nearly became a nuisance as he whizzed up and down the hide wagging his tail and mumbling in his growly Hobson’s*. There was talk (on the birder grapevine) of a couple of Golden Orieles lurking in the Bay, but we didn’t see them unfortunately. There was plenty going on at the insulating tape, with faaarsands of gulls of various shapes, sizes and colourations (adult, immature, 1st year, 2nd, 3rd etc..) I’ve included a smudge of a beefy greater black-backed gull as well as a handsome turnstone adult male in summer plumage.  I’m also including a picture of Mrs Coot feeding a couple of her youngsters. When I got home after a pit-stop at Sainsbury’s to stock up on greedy boy provisions, I noticed a cheeky dunnock parading up and down the wall of my garden and managed a Barnaby Rudge for your delectation   hasta la pasta  peepers     x i jah de Q

* Hobson’s Choice = voice






meanwhile, back at the Cabernet

Yo Doodles  It was nice to be back at the scrape today after yesterday’s frisson de l’aventure Marquenterre innit. It was very quiet, but extremely pleasant and calming. I was lucky to capture a reed warbler whizzing in and out the reeds. It was also delightful that a shoveler was swanning (sorry mutes) about trailing 10 little newborn ducklings behind her. I’ve smudged them for your delectation. There were also a number of coot babies following their parents about the Cab. One little beauty stopped in front of the Jeckle for a portrait which I also enclose for your delectation. Only a muvver could luv ’em. They look like something out of Dr Who!   hasta la doodah doods

x i jah de Q