Sparrows are scrapping, dunnocks are flicking their wings like flamenco dancers, blackbirds are posturing. A song thrush makes himself heard over the ruckus, repeating himself loudly, just incase we didn't get it the first time. Blue tits (eight of them) swing on the suet cake and starlings click and whistle from the terraces like rowdy football fans.
When I venture outside to hang out my washing, birds whizz past in a blur of brown and gold and blue and black and I have to dodge out of the way before I'm hit. I take my tea to the blue bench and watch the shenanigans from a safe distance.
|Some of our nest boxes|
I watch a sparrow pulling hard at fennel leaves to line his nest. He's unable to break off the feathery fronds and it looks like he might end up wing over beak. I can't see him struggle so I go to his assistance and pull some off for him. Two more sparrows brawl over a white feather that flutters into the new pond, lost. Then a couple of blackbirds start a fight. It's violent. They end up at my feet, a blur of black and yellow. I almost have to pull them apart.
By mid-morning, calm has descended into the garden again. I scatter raisins and meal worms to keep the peace.
If you're fed up with the UK election already, here is something worth voting for -
Britain's National Bird, the result will be announced on May 7th.
Which one will you vote for?
Do leave a comment here and let me know. If it's too complicated on the blog, try