Well, I hope you are grateful you little birdy creatures. I have just been out in the pouring rain to buy you some fat balls to feed the starving bird life that likes to inhabit my tiny back garden. Earlier today a Robin was looking decidedly miffed when he realized that all the remaining fat balls had gone from the feeder and his fellow thrush mates were scavenging pitifully for the minute scraps on the floor. Of course when I go into the village at 3.20 the pet shop is closed and the cheerful ironmonger named Mr. Perkins (possibly Perky Perkins) delights in charging me one pound forty-five for four testicular sized fat balls. I leave that to your imagination to determine how large they were.
Now I can hear the birds cheeping away in a “We love Bill Oddy, yes we do!” sort of way in the ‘tree of lilac that hides many birds’. They are a bit shy so I expect one will eventually suss out that there are no cats or other threats and start tentatively picking at the fat ball contents and that will encourage the others to come charging down from the branches and wolf down a quid and a half worth of seeds and crumbly fat in seconds.
Speaking of birds, I have a chicken roasting in the oven so I must attend to that before it is becomes a charred mass of smoky chicken bones and shriveled parson’s nose.
There is a frenzy of birdsong emanating from the lilac tree now. Very soon it will be Hitchcock revisited. Two thrushes are on it already and pooing at the same time. Nice.
