Time, Like A Turbine…

Hmm. I could bore you with an apology for how little I have written since I found a job, or I could regale you with tales of how wonderfully bonkers (and astonishingly professional, of course) said employment has been. Naturally, the latter task fulfils the former penitence (without, I hope, being boring).

Wonderfully bonkers? Well, I am paid to do things that would get a man locked up if it were not in the name of science. For instance, planting children’s socks and chicken drumsticks around the base of a wind turbine. (That’s one way to check how good your surveyors are at finding dead bats and finding out how often the local fox feels the need to eat your dead birds. Making any sense yet? No…?) Or bringing home roadkill pigeons to sneak into the pizza drawer. (Admittedly that’s not pathological, it’s just plain eccentric. It’s to do with turbines again, though.) I could go on – and, in God’s good time, I hope I will.

Good to see you all again – and remember, a bird in the field is worth at least six drumsticks in the freezer.


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