Pen at the ready, questionnaire perched unsteadily on my knee, nerve endings twitching (how appropriate!) in expectation. Begin. The garden is deserted. The lawn looks dark green and muddy and speckled with the bird food neglected by the birds since the snow melted. No fluttering of tiny blue-tit wings on the fences, no blackbird perched on the tool cabinet eyeing me warily, as he pecks at the suet pellets and mealworms put there for his convenience. No collared doves sitting gracefully in the tree, waiting their chance to swoop in to collect the seed from the bird table. This is a disaster!
Twenty minutes in and all I have recorded is a seagull flying over – well it might have decided to land in my garden. It didn’t but it might have. Can I risk a trip to the kitchen for a cup of tea, after all nothing’s going on here? No, give it another five minutes. The cramp in my leg from sitting still so long is becoming quite painful. Oh yes, action! A young blackbird flips to the top of the fence and after checking for a safe landing area, flops on to the lawn, wings spread-eagled. A muffled squawk and an older female, possibly mum, shoots out from under the hedge. She flies at the youngster with wings outstretched and tumbles him into the rockery. His feathers distinctly ruffled, he rises into the air and catches sight of the picnic set out for him on the cabinet and heads towards it. His landing gear clearly unpractised, his flight stalls and he scrabbles to find a grip in the melting snow. Steadying himself he takes a sly stab at the pink pellets and winks at me.
Blackbird – two (below)
A house sparrow, (female), stops off at the seed feeder and hanging on precariously, selects the seeds she enjoys and spits out the rest contemptuously. A rustle in the magnolia bush and two more sparrows emerge, having picked up the seed deposited there for the dunnock. He has been notable by his absence recently but I live in hope.
House sparrow – three (below)
By now it is forty minutes in and I have very little to report. Where is the beautiful flock of long tailed tits that graced my garden only yesterday on their way to somewhere more exciting? Those little furry bundles with distinctive striped heads and elegant long tails who come in a rush eight or ten at a time and fly off just as quickly. Or that young greater spotted woodpecker with his crimson dome, who helter- skelters around my nut feeder turning upside down in the process; the stunning nut hatch with its peachy chest and sharp beady eyes, who called in not long ago; the raven who chose my garden for some r and r after a long haul flight? Who will know that I have seen all these birds in my garden if they don’t turn up for parade in the next twenty minutes???
As if to offer me some encouragement, David Peckham pops down from the tree for some light refreshment and in his wake, some of his family. I should explain. David is a blue-tit who sports a Mohican hair style like David Beckman once wore, hence the name.
Blue-tit – four (below)
And with that my time is up, my cramp is extreme and another call of nature beckons.