This afternoon I heard a rather disconcerting rhythmic tapping coming from the vicinity of the shelter, a little like someone hammering a nail or striking metal. In the best tradition of all the classic horror films “The only sensible option on this stormy night is to investigate the strange noise coming from the crypt/basement/ruined house” I went to investigate. What I found was not, I am overjoyed to say, a mad axeman/hungry cannibal/witches coven but a song thrush. This resourceful bird was smashing the living daylights out of a snail using a corrugated iron sheet as its anvil. Around the corner from this sheet is a terracotta pot graveyard, where the cracked and chipped await their fate, now colonised by a metropolis of over-wintering molluscs. So this speckled visitor to the garden goes first to the larder and then to the tin opener. Yet again I am thrilled by the ingenuity of wildlife. Keep it up, we need all the help we can get in this particular battle.
The wind today was over whelming. Everything was ruled by it, every action had to be planned to avert disaster. Overhead a large flock of mixed corvids, jackdaws and rooks, dipped and ducked, swooped and swayed. At the risk of foisting human attributes onto these avian acrobats, it seemed they were doing this for no other reason that to have fun and as I was watched I felt a pang of jealousy.