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Magpies

A muggy sort of weekend with occasional biblical rainfall, together with the need to get some housework done competing with a certain lassitude, persuaded me not to go out for a walk.

The invisible sparrows ate all the seed and fat balls in the feeding station by the tree so had to come out into the open to be seen. At any one time there'd be a dozen on the feeder by the washhouse with more lurking in the nearby boysenberries or bouncing round in the rambling rose. The wren is a fixture and sings throughout the day. I've not seen any youngsters yet but there's plenty enough cover to hide them. The singing goldcrest I woke up to was a surprise, I know they're around but like the coal tits they're mightily elusive after Easter.

A whitethroat and a blackcap have been singing from the scrub at the far end of the station this week so not all is lost after all. I thought we were down to just the one pair of swifts but half a dozen were flying over earlier. Still not big numbers but you live in hope.

Talking of big numbers, the magpies outnumbered the woodpigeons on the school playing field, all the youngsters — thirty-eight of them — being brought in by their parents.