Sunday evening blues

So, I'm back in Acton. Compared to Holy Island, the most god-forsaken scrap of land in the universe. Infested with tramps, Ring-necked Parakeets, too many kebab shops and nail-bars and generally depressing. Even an outing to visit the scruffy-but-thriving Kensington Garden owlets couldn't lift my spirits today. I scoured my patch at first light and couldn't find as much as a Chiffchaff to add to my list. The frogspawn has run out of oxygen and is rotting in a bubbling and suppurating mass in the corner of the teeny Southfields pond.
A recap of our island visit then. For anyone who might be interested the moth list was in fact, Hebrew Character, Pale Brindled Beauty, Clouded Drab, two of the very variable Mottled Grey and Common Quaker. I leave it to you, dear reader, to assign the moths to the names. Our last night produced the best moths, with a new species for me: Red Chestnut. I submit a photo of trap-setting including our illustrious visitor for the evening, Alan Tilmouth.

We had, as ever, a wonderful time on the island. I won't subject you to my distant, digibinned Merlin pics. Andy Hirst and I spent a merry quarter of an hour watching an almost pure-white Ermine systematically working a drystane dyke (which I think Andy filmed - update to follow). We saw a vole, and several Small Tortoiseshells which gives me hope for the forthcoming butterfly season. But it was all-too-soon over, and I had to get several trains and a bus back south.
I leave you with a pic of us hunting owls at last light.