Was walking home from the pub at a disreputable hour, an hour when all good naturalists should be in bed waiting for a dawn in a cold damp hide somewhere. Not I. I was walking home, taking some detours to avoid some wankers, and as I approached the little park near my home, suddenly the quiet hours became alive with birdsong.
230am and the Blackbirds were singing as if their lives depended on it, and so sweetly and joyfully it took the sting out of a misty drizzly grey night.
Obviously after a hard night's melodifying, the buggers would be hungry, and sure enough I noticed my Holly tree twitching like it had St Vitus Dance. Looking out my window, two males and a female were gobbling the berries, which glinted like rubies in a weak winter sun ass they momentarily held them in their beaks before swallowing them with a snappy motion.
I'm very glad my holly tree is being used by smaller song birds, and not the stamping ground of the woodpigeons who had already cleaned it out by this time last year.
Seeing as it was a pleasant old evening, headed out for a walk - my leg is a bit torn at the moment in the calf department - and wandered down by London Road Lake to see what I might see. The Mallard Drakes post Eclipse are in stunning condition - bottle green heads irridescent, and also their black rumps have a purple sheen. The (not) Black Headed Gulls drifting around serene with pure white bodies and crisp grey wings are also in good nick.
Alas, the same can't be said for me at the moment!