You don't see this stuck to your wall every day...

There is a certain creature that comes into my garden every single evening from April to November but I never usually get to see more than a passing shadow whizzing by.

Until this happened:

When you see a bat sat (or is that a sat bat?), it feels such a different creature to the twisting, turning nimble ghost that whirls with such speed over ponds and trees.

So my brick-clinging little bundle throws up a number of questions.

Such as, which bat is it? Well, bat identification is difficult on sight, but I have a little module called an Echo Meter Touch that slots into the top of my i-phone and can tell me in real time whether there are any bats around. It picks up the ultrasonic clicks they use to navigate their nighttime world, and then works out you what species it is most likely to be. So, I know my garden is visited by lots of Common Pipistrelles, a few Soprano Pipistrelles, and one or two Serotines.

While I didn't get to hear this particular bat, it is too small for Serotine, and the dark muzzle almost certainly indicates this is a Common Pipistrelle as the Sorpanos have rather a pale face.

But what is it doing clinging to my wall? Well, I suspect it was poorly, because on closer inspection it had what looked either like a worm or wound near its rear end - sad, but a reminder that wildlife suffers from all sorts of injuries and ailments and diseases, as much as we do.

However, the good news is that it flew off quite strongly, so we hope it went on to fight another day.

But the mystique surrounding bats runs deep. They may come into my garden every evening, but where do they come from? I had two emerge from my bat boxes over the course of about a week last year, but none since.

So, do they roost and breed in the church down the road, or an old house nearby, or do they travel in from some distance? Who knows.

But I guess the encouraging thing is that they do come into my garden, seemingly as a first port of call at dusk, to sip water from the pond in daring flypasts and weave their way over my garden glade.

And I'll cherish this one chance to see one of them out of its element, clinging on for dear life, upside down, which is how my life often feels!