Being a Twitcher.

Many of my days during this lockdown have been spent birdwatching. By Birdwatching I mean going about my business and seeing birds, now I know, to be a true birdwatcher you have to know what it is you are looking at, but I find my ignorance does not get in the way of my enjoyment. In my defense, I know a few species, but still the difference between a bloody lady sparrow and a dunnock eludes me. Just at the point where I feel confident it is straight within my head, I get muddled again. I am not a complete loss, side by side in picture form I can tell they are not the same bird but out in the open the fog of confusion descends... you see in real life, the darn things move.

I feel a little bit of warm satisfaction everytime I look at the birds squabbling over the bird feeder, firstly because I like birds and secondly - perhaps more importantly, because I hung it up. I bought it quite a while back and it was a bugger to hang in the lilac tree, so when a storm took it down I was remiss in resolving that. When I had to scurry around to get out to work each day and squeeze in housework in between waking hours of enough energy, rehanging a bird feeder seemed like a 'step too far' and I would pass it, often on a daily basis and sigh. Now I look at it, hanging in my tree, catching the breeze slightly and wonder why it took me so long. I wonder what situation I will be in when the next storm comes?

I have set myself a few goals over this strange time: one is to recognise some common birdsong. But nothing is making it stick. I pride myself in good musical hearing, it was the one part of the piano examination I would excel in - when the pianist played something and you had to sing it back. But I have discovered, much to my annoyance I am birdsong tone deaf - sounding like a grumpy old fart discussing modern music - they just 'all sound the same to me'.  I have never been very sympathetic with tone-deaf people in the past, sometimes in my head I have wished ill will upon them (especially if they were singing in my ear) and now I find myself occupying their side of the fence. How we are humbled by the things we cannot do! Besides, I tell myself, I don't believe birds are singing- I think it is a myth we feed ourselves as we combine forest sounds and birdsong together to make a relaxing mixtape to lull us to sleep.  If we spoke 'bird' we'd realise they were probably making similar utterances to those which filter into my urban oasis from the main road, shoutings of an incoherent nature with the odd 'fat f**K' thrown in, and believe you me I have seen that thrush and I can't say I disagree.