Whitley Bay Cemetery was equally sombre, and I was saddened to see that my caffeine-related hero was no more:
Onward and upward and off to St. Mary's next. Hods of Skylarks over the stubble field on the way in, and the ebbing tide had exposed a load of sea weed that was awash with Sanderling, Dunlin, Turnstone, Redshank and Starlings.
And these guys just off-shore:
Along the path to the west of the wetlands, singing his wee lungs out was this chap:
The rest of the path was quiet save for Reed Buntings, and the willows and the north end of the wetlands were the quietest I have experienced.
On the ploughed field, the three wise..........