"Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweth sed, and bloweth med, And springth the wude nu."

I'm mad on birds. I was thinking at the weekend as I watched the seagulls swoop and the blackbirds sing louder than car alarms we don't rule this planet, birds do. Such freedom has a bird, one minute crapping on a car the next soaring into the skies to perch on the Gherkin or Tower Bridge. As I sit at work to earn a crust a blue tit can fly down to Cornwall and dine at Rick Stein's gaff or chill out in Reading feasting on the remains of a social worker's toast. I'm sure I'm being simplistic but what a life.

On returning from work last night as I waited for rice to boil I stepped into the garden where six fat pigeons jumped up and down in my meadow (flowers not likely this year, they've eaten the seeds) A robin held a worm in its beak and darted in and out of a nest (made in next doors redundant air brick) and the twittering from the bushes and all around hath charms to soothe the savage breast.

I read a few weeks back in one of those columns in the weekend supplements where a celebrity is asked questions and they come up with witty replies - if they are not Jim Davidson - it was Willy Russell and he was asked something along the lines of what would you do if you had some spare time? and he replied "fill up my bird feeders" and I knew exactly what he meant.