Artist and writer Richard Foster is a regular contributor to this publication. He is the author of a number of articles on Dutch post punk and two books based in the Netherlands of the 2000s, Flower Factory (2022) and The Punk Rock Birdwatching Club, published 14 February, 2025 (both Ortac Press). The Punk Rock Birdwatching Club is best described as a set of psychedelicised, autofictive fairy tales. A diverse cast – from addicts to grandmothers – narrate the major social changes that country underwent during the mid-noughties. Themes include the upheavals brought on by the adoption of the Euro and the influx of Polish workers alongside the slow disappearance of the British and Irish worker-raver tribes post-Schengen, set against a backdrop of rising costs, political murders and foreign wars. And, worse, the shock of new party snacks, like asparagus stalks wrapped in ham.
Foster also makes etchings and drawings, writes about his old East Lancashire and Tyneside stomping grounds, and photocopies ephemera; posting the results to unsuspecting contacts acting as the chief (sole?) curator of the Museum of Photocopies. He is increasingly fascinated by the intersection between ornithology, memory, and punk. An odd alliance, certainly, but for tQ, he plots out a beginner’s guide on how to be a Punk Rock Bird Watcher.
Don’t take it too seriously
“I have loved birds since I was a boy. And I still maintain that I would rather listen to a song thrush than any of my records. But I have seen what happens to those who get into bird watching. You spend an inordinate amount of time on your own. You start posting updates on dedicated websites, pinpointing where you last heard the song of the marsh warbler (in a car park near the Oegstgeest branch of the Bastion hotel, just behind the A44, Junction 5, direction Amsterdam).”
For goodness’ sake don’t act like a threat to society
“Too much seriousness can mean you look and act like a right menace. There you are, watching birds (yeah, right) hugging the sides of pathways or in odd stretches of litter-strewn wasteland, dressed in drab utility clothing and clasping high resolution field glasses and a notebook. Often giving off an odour of sweat and muck due to constant battles with the undergrowth, you resemble someone on day release, or working for a tabloid. No wonder parents hurry their children on as they pass you.”
Don’t become like other bird watchers
“Fear the twitcher! They may have once been your pals, but they start hanging out on towpaths, disappearing from your life for months on end only to text you a blurred photograph of a golden plover on a Sunday morning. Conversation with them becomes increasingly stilted, unless “the topic” is broached and then there’s an even chance of a ghastly parade of facts or an invective-strewn rant that borders on violence. Please, don’t become like them.”
The chance encounter is “where it’s at”
“Encountering birds by chance, and having the wit to know what you see or hear is one of life’s great, illuminating joys. Inadvertently seeing a hoopoe hop about a woody path whilst coming back from a rave in the Noord Hollandse dunes in the early 2000s remains a crystalline memory, as does cycling through a watch of nightingales singing madly in a spinney outside Katwijk. A friend cycling with us had never heard a nightingale and our joy was as much in watching his face light up as hearing the birds’ incredible song.”
Don’t dress like a square, daddy-o
“Too much of modern life is about dressing properly. Dressing properly implies you’re trying to fit in and that is not punk. Dressing properly as a bird watcher also means spending a depressing amount of money in an outdoor shop and being served by permaflexing, lycra’d, fitness types.”
Revolt into style
“There is no limit, however, to dressing as a dedicated punk rock bird watcher. Look at the sartorial soufflé whipped up by Gentleman John Robb, goth evangelist, punk rocker avant la lettre and owl enthusiast. Like a Viv Westwood collection, you can go as far as you want. Adepts can stick a wodge of Moroccan hash behind their glass eye, or wear full webbing with a tam o’shanter. But badges are a good start for the beginner: the subject is endless, from regimental cap badges to any number of punk bands. Widen your range and choose a jovial Milk Marketing Board one, maybe, or, for the Europhiles, the Düsseldorf Kunststoffmesse K’71 pin. However, ensure there are always a couple of bird ones in your selection. They should be worn on your hat, or used as a makeshift brooch, holding your studded gas cape in place. The RSPB makes some lovely enamel pins, priced at a quid or two. A silk scarf in your pocket and a paisley patterned, or spotted neckerchief is also a great standby.”
Be slightly daft
“Yes, your outré garb may mean you are spotted and avoided by the hawfinch you set out to see, but why not cut a dash? As a punk rock bird watcher, your clothing and demeanour can make bad choices that lighten the mood. I remember momentarily losing my left brogue in a bog up Pen-y-ghent. I had to put my arm into the fetid, freezing oomska to retrieve it but my mates never forgot the fact I went up Pen-y-ghent looking for grouse and hen harriers in an ancient pair of brogues.”
Nowt wrong wi’ a bit o’ muck
“A lived-in grubbiness that just about steers clear of the unseemly furtiveness described earlier is also recommended. A character in my latest book, The Twitcher, is dressed accordingly: ‘A bushman’s hat of indecipherable age sits atop his pale, expressive face; the string under the chin is carefully tied and resembles a thin, scraggly beard. A large, knotted paisley neckerchief forms a sartorial bridge to an oil-stained, long-sleeved, olive-green jacket with pockets that have notebooks and pens stuffed in them. Beneath the jacket’s zip opening, Debbie Harry’s elfish pout can occasionally be glimpsed on the front of a yellowing and threadbare t-shirt. Further south, a pair of combat trousers that must have changed their organic structure through years of use, and muddy paratrooper boots, complete the look. A bright yellow plastic bag from the Jumbo supermarket chain, replete with a Smiley smile is at his feet; stuffed full of waterproofs, cans, and his vegan biscuits.’ Be like The Twitcher.”
Referenced artists
John Robb
The Trenchcoat Mafia: John Robb’s History Of Goth Reviewed
Joy Division
Lumpen Revolutionaries: Lars Iyer’s My Weil Playlist
Aphex Twin
Dread Magnificence: LSD, Selected Ambient Works II & The Psychic Death of Aphex Twin
A Guy Called Gerald
I Can’t Accept That: University Challenge, Jungle And How Glibness Creates Bad History
You did not see a grey shrike and you never saw Joy Division
“Anecdotes are fine in real life, but, if told to the wrong fellow at the wrong time, can mark the end of your bird watching career. You cannot say, ‘I’m pretty sure I saw a grey shrike near Camping Duinrust in Noordwijkerhout’ to a committed twitcher. You may be convinced you did, and who am I to contradict you, but in this age of digital surveillance, you will be found out. Records will be checked. Years of lying in condom-scattered clumps of sand and grass, waiting on a glimpse of a shrike will be remembered and recited to you as an admonishment, to shame you. The music heads among those reading this will know that saying you saw a grey shrike near Camping Duinrust in Noordwijkerhout is akin to saying, ‘I saw Joy Division when they were Warsaw in a pub in Burnage and maybe they were better then’ or, ‘I was there when Aphex Twin ate a curry live on stage at ATP, whilst jamming with A Guy Called Gerald.’ Don’t do it.”
The Punk Rock Birdwatching Club by Richard Foster is available now via Ortac Press. The launch is at The Social Club, London, 24 February with all ticket proceeds donated to Centre Point
