I stand corrected. Los Cristianos’ Iberian chiffchaffs are not; they’re an entirely distinct species, endemic to the Canaries, and in retrospect the first lifer of the holiday for me. Of course I’m identifying them largely by location but my Collins does describe one call that had me puzzled a couple of times I heard it.
Likened to a Cetti’s, it is way out of place in the manicured metropolis, so at least that characteristic is diagnostic for the local chiffchaff. The bird does also seem tiny but that is always subjective. Canary islands chiffchaff it is then and I’m very happy.
Otherwise, my holiday has started true to form with me in the worst of health. I’d been coughing like a bastard for two weeks before, violently enough to tear stomach muscles. The remnants of became a raging sore throat – bad enough to submit myself to a pharmacy. The lady there was muy charming but must have seen me coming. When I read the packaging of the cure I’d chosen, even my Spanish was up to recognising the word homoeopathic.
I’ve tried that snake oil before. This time though it was rather effective. I was even sufficiently well to watch the Germans give us a football lesson. Poor old Lallana: his first two England outings have ended in defeat. I hope that doesn’t tarnish what looks like one of the country’s best prospects for a while. ⇐ ⇒