Researchers at the EGI have been studying great tits in Wytham, Oxfordshire, since 1947.
Presumably some of their original subjects aren’t quite as great as they used to be, Joan Collins excepted, as always.
Here is the full report, which also explains why they can be different sizes. Bonus!
UPDATE: Metro claims in the comments that these are his tits, and that I should give Miss Cellania credit for them. I can only conclude that I do not know Metro as well as I thought, and that Miss Cellania must be a talented plastic surgeon as well as journalist.
What you don’t know about your friends, eh?
raincoaster 
Hey–I don’t even get a nod here? Would you steal my grave as fast?
‘Course you would–real estate’s valuable …
Well, certainly Miss Cellania deserves linkie-luv, no?
And by the way, in North America we call them Ashcrofts, to avoid having to deal with the whole concept of … you know … the front … the female front.
Huh? I thought I got this off Fark and just couldn’t find the link. I shall update. I would never steal your tits, nor Miss Cellania’s either.
Oh. Perhaps just the infinite-number-of-monkeys co-incidence of the ‘net then?
I thought you mined that report from the link the divine Miz C. left over at FE’s blog, inspired, par excellence, by your ‘umble narrator.
And actually, I never said they were mine. I cannot ever recall having actually been in possession of two such loverly specimens, though I have surely encountered a few in their natural habitat, mostly in pairs.
I’m more a catch-and-release sort of gent (ask my wife). Though I’ve found the ear tags and radio collars don’t go over well except with a particular type of subject.
Well, nobody would call your wife tame, so I guess you’re right.
Steven L said over on Boris’s blog that if you give an infinite number of Canadians Internet access, surely one of them would google “Hello Cthulhu” but who would doubt for a moment it would be raincoaster…
Honestly. no one has ever accused me of having great tits. Except this one guy… but I think he was just being nice.
On the internet, nobody can tell you’re a pancake. Or a Grand Teton, come to think of it.