To be honest, there are a handful of very interesting, well-written recollections of specific twitches which are, to a birder like myself, informative and eminently readable, noted for their style and appreciation of the well-written word. Alas, NONE of these pieces have been written by the author. A term coined in the 1960s to describe the jaw-rattling sound of chasing after rare birds on rumbling motorbikes, "twitchers" are narrowly defined as bird-watchers willing to drop everything to chase a sighting. More broadly, it includes those who see a bird within a few days of an urgent bulletin. Innuendo and/or explicit images were also a mainstay of the Carry On and Confessions of movies that were popular in the 1980s and before. Perhaps he ought to publish two editions - the revised sanitised version and the original, the latter to contain a warning on the cover that some of its content may cause offence to certain readers.

Twitching by numbers by Garry Richard Bagnell | Waterstones

Britain isn't the only place that has hatched a culture of fierce birdwatching. In the United States, book-turned-Hollywood-film The Big Year chronicled the quest of three men vying in long-held American competitions to spot the most species in a single year. Nevertheless, observers say the intensity of the rivalries and the small size of the twitching community – in the thousands – have singled out British birders as some of the world's most relentless. Any author who deviates from what is considered decorous and appropriate enjoys no licence - he (or she) risks being singled out and pilloried with opprobrium. In 2009, Bagnell said, he and other twitchers were aghast when two elderly rivals on the circuit went for each other's throats. "One was saying he'd seen a bird, and the other said he didn't believe him," Bagnell said. The story starts in 1999 just after my 32nd Birthday and I've just ended my 18-year love affair with watching private jets around the world. Garry Bagnell looks for a shorelark at Great Yarmouth. Unsuccessful sightings are known as 'dips'. Photograph: Andrew Testa/The Washington Post

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The book takes you through the various twitching adventures in the British Isles and aspects of my private life.

The Wryneck: Hurricane in a teacup? Twitcher on back foot

I met an individual at work who introduced me into his hardcore world of Birdwatching called "Twitching". The most unfortunate twitchers race many kilometres to spot a bird only to find that their flighty subjects have flown off – a bummer known in the twitching world as a "dip". One of the most infamous dips came as Webb pursued a long-tailed shrike in the Outer Hebrides off mainland Scotland. The boat he and 12 others had hired died in choppy waters, forcing a daring rescue by Her Majesty's Coastguard. "We were worried for our lives for a bit, but we were more worried about not seeing this bird," he said.In other countries, the world of birdwatching may be a largely gentle place ruled by calm, binocular-toting souls who patiently wait for their reward. But in Britain, it can be a truly savage domain, a nest of intrigue, fierce rivalries and legal disputes. Fluttering somewhere between sport and passion, it can leave in its path a grim tableau of ruined marriages, traffic chaos and pride, both wounded and stoked. If you’ve done something really, really bad and you wish to atone for your sins there are several things you can do: you could wear a hair shirt for a month, you could walk naked through Canterbury on a market day whilst self-flagellating and proclaiming your sins or you could read this book. In retrospect I think I would have preferred to have suffered the walk of shame, at least that would have been a more interesting way to spend my time.

Twitching by numbers: Twenty-four years of chasing rare…

Webb is known to drop his grocer's apron to chase a rare bird and claims to have broken Evans's record in 2000. Evans – a polarising figure on the birding circuit – does not recognise Webb's claim to the title. Twitching by Numbers: twenty-four years of chasing rare birds around Britain and Ireland by Garry Bagnell is self published. In the wake of the uproar, Mr Bagnell (55), an accountant, of Southwater in West Sussex, has both apologised for any upset he has caused and indicated that he now intends to rewrite his book, self-censoring the sections that have caused such offence.However principally, and overwhelmingly, it is a e-book about twitching – the fieldsport of speeding round attempting to see uncommon birds so as to add to your lifelong record of untamed birds seen in Britain and Eire. Like most sports activities, twitching will appear completely pointless to the overwhelming majority of individuals. Who cares that Scotland beat England at rugby just lately? Fairly a couple of, together with me. And who cares that Garry Bagnell has seen 553 hen species in Britain and Eire (which places him approach behind Steve Gantlett on an estimated 590 species)? Fairly a couple of folks and they’re principally males. Do I care? Not deeply, however I’m definitely on this e-book as a result of it’s a very clear description of the fieldsport of twitching from the perspective of a eager exponent.

Book review: Twitching by Numbers by Garry Bagnell - Mark Avery

Twitching by Numbers: twenty-four years of chasing uncommon birds round Britain and Eire by Garry Bagnell is self printed. In America, birdwatching is still mostly a pastime," said Evans, who is on his fourth marriage and blames his divorces partly on his obsession with twitching. "But in Britain, birdwatching can be bitter. It can be real nasty business." Many see twitching as an outcrop of the British fascination with "spotting" things – most notoriously, trainspotting, a hobby that involves the obsessive pursuit of seeing as many locomotives with your own eyes as humanly possible. But others say it may simply be a case of boys who refuse to grow up.I had by no means heard of a foam get together till I learn this e-book – perhaps I ought to get out extra, or perhaps not.