Sunday was really sunny in the morning. Mr B & F sat in the dining room and watched the garden. They were apparently going to count birds. There weren’t any. In fact it was so boring I went back to bed and F went out the front and did some digging.
We regularly have an army of wood pigeons, 2 pairs of blackbirds, 3 different robins (that we know of), blue tits, sparrows and long-tailed tits, a family of crows, we’ve counted up to 7 magpies at one time, and last weekend we even had a flock of a dozen starlings.
Other winters we’ve had thrushes, red-wings, a woodpecker, finches and wrens. A grey wagtail visits the garden from time to time and there are always squadrons of seagull sort of birds flying around, scouting, ready to swoop on anything that looks like food thrown out on our lawn.
But on Sunday? Nothing. A big fat boring nothing. The sun was shining, the bird feeders were stocked up, the cat biscuits were out for the corvids and insect pellets for the robins. A few robins and blue tits called by during breakfast but when F sat down to count, they all went and hid somewhere.
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