Today, whilst myself and Hero were enjoying our lunch of potted shrimp and tiramisu in the potting shed, discussing Nietzsche and the merits of a pre-wash programme, a loud bang at the window made us jump almost clean out of the sofa. In a very respectable time considering our circumstances, we hauled our finely honed bodies up and to the door only to see a sparrow hawk flying past the shelter with a twittering blue tit clasped in its talons. The poor little mite had been dining at Chez Peanut Feeder, attached to the window for our voyeuristic delectation, and the eagle-eyed (OK hawk-eyed) raptor had dived down to the previously unnamed Chez Small Defenceless Bird, plucking off Mr Tit and duly head-butting the glass when the brakes failed. Just as any predator worth his salt, he didn’t drop his prey at this minor concussive set back (rather like myself with a pasty on Ilfracombe High Street) but quickly regained his senses and flew off to enjoy his meal. We were rather shocked, but obviously not as much as the blue tit. An eerie silence fell as all the birds in the neighbourhood quite sensibly cowered in the shrubbery. Half an hour later they were back on the feeder “anyone seen Uncle Alf, he said he was just popping out for a minute …. “. Life goes on.