Knocknataggart

The alarm went at 5am - actually it didn't, the inner alarm went off at 4.48am - yes that is correct am, for it is bird survey time - doesn't it come round quick. Ada the cat managed to muster an appetite for an early breakfast and I was out of the house by 5.20 enroute to Knocknataggart - my own little patch that I've been covering for at least six years now. It's pretty wild country, hills, moorlands and a large lake which I'm meant to somehow get across but don't. The birds were out in force particularly the teeny but incredibly loud little wrens. More goldfinches than usual but less jackdaws and a newcomer for the patch - a Little Egret. And tons of chirruping little beige jobs. No other humans were out and about but these these sheep cast a suspicious eye from the shelter of this old cabin. The cross on the hill above marks a cilleen, a burial place for the unbaptised, mainly infants. Interestingly (it is!) Knocknataggart means hill of the priest. There were plenty of frisky bullocks, four skinny curious horses and a bunny.

Back home and I've been dashing about - talking to a ferryman re cards (good), arranging an NCT (MOT for you Brits, it's okay I'm not pregnant), doing bank stuff and trying to track down a book which has disappeared into the depths of Bantry library. An early night beckons!