Priceless, brilliant, perfect, irreplaceable, fantastic, sublime, exquisite, a gem, the best ever!
Given the frequency of such terms, spewing daily into the world, care of 'our' media network, my contention is that the superlative and many of its closer cousins are vastly overused. This being almost to the point of redundancy or abuse even. I've typed 'contention' but really, given that the most likely recipient for such unworthy praise is invariably a Premier League footballer or someone randomly selected from a spiralling list of (so termed) celebrities, it's really far more than a contention, it's a fact, albeit an extremely sad one.
Incidentally, for those who might still be harbouring any residual doubt, for 'Premier League', try substituting the more scientifically accurate title of 'First Division'. Because that's what 'Premier League' actually means. Of course it does, as in 'at the front' or 'top' or 'fastest', 'not behind another', first! How can 'first' possibly also apply as a label for third? Whatever next?
My current cycling qualifies for none of the above. Perhaps 'better', when current efforts are compared to earlier outings, but even such vagaries as 'better' might only apply in this very specific instance. I claim nothing, in terms of competitive comparisons for my cycling, except that I do invariably get to where I'm aiming.
During 2012 I've cycled somewhere in the region of 1,600 miles. Not a fantastic distance when you average it out over the entire year. Still, it keeps me happy(ish).
Having not been out on the bike for a month or so, almost entirely as a consequence of falling temperatures and the various forms of precipitation available to those of us living in the UK, I was eager to reconnect with this interest, as soon as I'd acquired a pair of gloves capable of combatting the occupational hazards of frostbite. And somewhat limited road testing would seen to suggest that this modest goal has finally been achieved.
So, 1,600 miles, mostly devoted to trundling along back lanes in the general region of North Norfolk. Lots of rain, a bit of sunshine, much wind, more than enough mud for a lifetime, and a fair selection of interesting regional wildlife. For example, on balance, I'd guess that the Common Buzzard features on more trips than not. Probably the largest kettle of such would be a helical tower of seven, seen around late September, early October; always well worth pausing to marvel at. There can be more to cycling than simply getting from A to B in the shortest possible duration.
Thus far, and excepting specific coffee stops, Monday the 10th December would probably have to feature as the most notable wildlife-worthy day to date. More, I'd be prepared to argue that several of the terms eagerly dismissed at the start of this passage realistically do still apply here. Certainly 'priceless,' 'sublime,' 'exquisite' and most definitely 'irreplaceable.' Neither would I be alone in describing Monday's observations as absolute 'gems.'
Perhaps something meteorological may have transpired, to cause such a proliferation during my short cycling absence, something to which I am not yet privy. Either way, I strongly feel these observations to be, at the very least, highly noteworthy. A total of sixteen observed Bullfinches, at thirteen separate sites! And, should this not mean a great deal to you, allow me to place these sightings into some sort of context. At least sixteen Bullfinches in a solitary day (approximately 40 miles) would almost seem to tally with the number seen during the entirety of the rest of 2012 (approximately 1,560 miles).
Further more, for those amongst you who do not know of the charming Bullfinch, a relatively small British bird, about the size of a House Sparrow, I should mention that, during the winter months this bird tends towards gregarious. That is to say that, like other members of the finch family, it tends to seek out others of its kind- 'birds of a feather...' and all that stuff. So observations made from a moving bike, invariably alerted by the bird's rather plaintive piping call, or the uncommon sight of a white rump in retreating flight, might not always reveal precisely how many birds there are present.
Even during the more territorial spring or summer months Bullfinch sightings tend to be of pairs or small family groups. In the winter months parties of five or six are still not uncommon, except to put this into the context that Bullfinches generally in the UK are fast becoming almost a rarity. So I am reporting that, in a single day, during a forty mile cycle I have encountered upwards of sixteen Bullfinches, of which only six were observed to be with another, so an estimate of conceivably as many as forty birds would not be that outrageous. Of Bullfinches, that's a lot!
Beautiful and relatively easy to identify, once seen not that easy to mistake for another bird. Males in particular present as one of the most delightful birds that one might still be fortunate enough to encounter in a UK garden, but only if (and maybe) one lives adjacent to areas of suitable habitat. The male is almost unmistakable, with its deep pink and copious breast and jet black cap, the female being somewhat more muted. But both possess the really obvious white rump that may almost instantly allow one to discount nearly all other smallish birds.
Perched upon a bike, as I was, wheeling along relatively quiet country lanes, it was frequently the surprisingly far carrying and plaintive piping that first alerted my attentions. Thus I am able to also report that despite the remarkable swell in (my) recent Bullfinch sightings I have, so far this year, yet to encounter any of the larger and more nasal-sounding northern race of this bird.
And yes, they really are priceless. Once gone science will instantly confirm that they are also irreplaceable. Isn't it refreshing to read of such a notable swell in the numbers of Bullfinches? Long may this slight apparent recovery last.
Isn't it also refreshing to see such terms as, irreplaceable, a gem and priceless used in their correct context?
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