Out on the mudflat, mulling over mudthings. The tide is about to turn. Hitch up your pants and head for the beach.
Imperial walkers, massing at the border.
P.S. to Earl: The night-herons are still around, apparently, but we couldn't find any.
I've got some time off next month and it might be a good opportunity to pay another visit. Perhaps the night-herons will be showing off by then?
Perhaps. I think they are resident there (the farthest north known wintering spot, I recall reading somewhere). If you go back, look for John, a grey-haired Billy Connelly with a Yorkshire accent. He'll probably be able to tell you where to look.
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