Went out yesterday with no hope of seeing anything whatsoever, and the birding gods duly obliged. An hour and a half of walking the mutts around the patch turned up a single Woodcock, and a showing-characters-of-Siberian Chiffchaff. I should have put the effort in with the latter, but a) it was bloody cold and I wanted to get home and light the fire, and b) I couldn’t really be arsed. It’s that sort of apathy that let Iberian Chiffchaff languish in taxonomic obscurity until some clever chap sucked out its DNA and advanced the tickers’ lists by one overnight, and all of a sudden every man and his dog was claiming them in the field.

In my defence, it’d be a damn sight less of a chore to look at a Chiffchaff ssp in the balmy comfort of the Iberian peninsula than on an exposed Shetland peninsula in a northerly force 8. Hell, who am I kidding? I’m just lazy. So sue me.

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