Believe

Every Christmas all the little children ask Santa that next year, if they are good, a Red-backed Shrike will present itself for our adoration.  This year good boy was Marco, shame he wasn't there to see it!

Nearly fucked it up though, didn't I?

A small bird behind one of the hawthorn in the pub scrub caught my attention.  Whitethroat natch! But even to my miopic-jump-to-any-conclusion like mind it were a wrong-un!  Something about the eye.  Too far for the bins I circled closer.  Still looked strange and kinda shrike like.  Preposterous.
I rounded my last bit of cover, camera ready.  Of course the bird flew before the clunky focusing could get a fix. An hour full of expletives later wandering around the pub scrub it pops up on a dead tree in Alex scrub.  Well I never...

... and if a Whitethroat had popped up in that time, well I never would have!