The weathermen tell bloody lies.

That night watch went on for another evening without any result whatsoever. Soon after I got back, got called at home on Sunday by the uberboss to deal with some blokes coming through somebody else's airport first thing Monday, whom were duly met, greeted, nicked and processed for an amount of illicit material that was so small it was embarrassing; takes a whole team plus reinforcements to deal with four petty nickings that we really aught to just fine on the spot and kick out. Dreadful really, London policy makers five years behind the rest of the country as usual, advancement seeking local middle managers sticking to their every word like glue. After all this, I was a little cranky, so decided to take short notice leave as "me time". Well, that went to pot. Wanted straight through Wednesday to Wednesday, but there's meetings tomorrow and a course that nobody told me I was on, on Tuesday. My works really do suck dead donkey's cock when it comes to basic courtesy.

Anyways, "me time"... a nice lie in, then loaded the mirthmobile full of freshly charged camera batteries and headed north. My old stomping ground, Hambleton district of North Yorkshire where there's a certain bird of prey centre to be found. You know what I'm like on the beauty of nature and the ergonomics of the kill, so you'll know why they impress me. Can't remember if it was in this or a previous blog, but I went up there for a handling course paid for by FLoH before she was F, and have frankly rather a taste for the place. The weather forecast said seventeen degrees, high cloud, sunny spells. The reality was freezing winds, and p*ssing it down. Oh well. Made the best of it anyway, shot a bunch of pixels on the flying and had a very nice afternoon, if drenched. The weather kind of put the kybosh on the rest of the afternoon, and I headed south again, but I'm plotting my return visit already, when the centre opens again in March.