this time there was no shouting
Well, there was. A bit, after I'd taken about thirty shots. These shoutychildren were at least as shouty as the previous heron-frighteners but a bit less stompy so the heron was not immediately scared away. I even had time to change lenses but stuck with this one although I had as many possible candidate shots as there were cones on Spittal Street this afternoon.
Popped in to donate some more bloods on the way home. They're especially short of O- at the moment so pop down and bleed for the sake of your fellow humans. If you're O you should really donate as often as possible anyway seeing as your blood is universally acceptable. I did consider asking if I could take some pictures of the process (and also just swiping a quick macro of the cannula with my phone) but didn't bother when the air of nearly-hometime-cannae-be-arsed amongst the phlebotomists became palpable. I must remember next time to just get a cold drink after donating as it takes at least ten minutes to drink an hot coffee meaning that several people come, drink and go whilst the coffee-drinker seems to outstay their welcome.
I was tempted to post the bloke who was murdering All Along the Watchtower on Middle Meadow Walk or the bloke communicating relaxedly on Haddon's Court but the heron won purely due to the effort involved in getting a crispy shot without a tele. It is still shite compared to other pictures of the same heron though.
Still plenty of time to spare before tonight's blipdeadline of 21:00. Tomorrow might be slightly tricky thanks to the rescheduled meeting I whinged about on Tuesday which finishes at five.
Post-walk edit: Ballbags. My mp3 player has just died.
Thursday morning edit: Ballbags with bells on. The humanist equivalent of RIP to Kurt Vonnegut. So it goes.