Not even the arrival of an emergency Sprawk could delay the inevitable for that long this morning - three or four digiscoped shots through a misty back window as the accipiter sat on our next-door neighbour's surgically sheared hedge, and then I still had to go shoppin' with Mrs D to Liverpool.
Bit like the seventh level of Dante's Hell with extra Bing Crosby and overpriced Bratwurst.
Come to think of it, those bloody shops are certainly hotter than anything the inferno has to offer.
I did ponder as the umpteenth dead-eyed orange sales assistant asked me if I wanted any help (help? help? I should co-co), as to whether the young Sprawk had caught and then clumsily dropped its prey through the hedge - it certainly seemed preoccupied, and they usually perch higher up at Dempsey Towers.
We may never know.
Ask not for whom the bells jingle, they jingle for you.
Eyes to the skies everyone, eyes to the skies...