EIGHT
Note: At the feeder this morning – a family of greenfinches. They eat very slowly and carefully, standing on the perch, usually two at a time, and chewing away at the sunflower seeds, occasionally looking over their shoulders. One male blackbird drinking from the galvanised bath that’s full of water. It was my idea to put a branch across it so the birds can perch on it and lean over to drink. Blue tits, great tits – they are twice the size of blue tits and have beautiful distinctive markings. Dunnocks (which are lovely, like tabby cats) and a robin, feed on the ground. They are ‘ground-feeders’ – that figures. The blackbird likes apples and plums and pear cores.
I had to go out and bring in Charlie – she was pretending to be a bush under the feeder, not a very green bush, I have to say, before any of the birds came for breakfast. I suppose she thought a little bird was going to drop into her mouth, just like that.
It’s been a very exciting day altogether, nature-wise. We were sitting outside having a lunch of egg sandwiches when the peregrine came and perched in the tree in front of us. We had to sit very still so as not to frighten it off. I didn’t have my bins, unfortunately, but I could see it anyway. It sat there while Mum’s cold wine got warm. But she was very good about it and nearly as excited as I was. It flew away behind the house. Perhaps it was hunting for food for its chick.
HAVEN ’ T SEEN GINNIE the policewoman at all.
‘Mum, do you think I should phone Ginnie and tell her about our sighting of the falcon?’
‘Who’s Ginnie?’
‘The wild-life warden, Ginnie the policewoman.’
‘Do you think she’ll need to know that?’
‘Well, at least she’ll know it’s still alive.’
‘Go on then.’
I phone the local police station and they say she’s not there but they’ll tell her I called.
I have a new pair of binoculars. I paid for them with the money that Daddy gave me for my birthday. I wrote a thank you letter of course. I hope he won’t be cross that I didn’t buy a dress. He does like me to look pretty-pretty. He doesn’t seem to realise that I’m not a girlie sort of a girl.
Mum says he’ll want to take me out with him to dinner and stuff and Show me Off when I’m older.
Why doesn’t he want to do that now?
He’s gone off somewhere on holiday with The Lovely Eloise. Tuscany, I think. Mum says he’s got a String-fellow Complex, whatever that is. I hope it doesn’t hurt.
I’m off out with my new bins. They are so light, I can’t believe it. They are 7 x 25, whatever that means. The man in the shop did explain but I’ve forgotten. He was very helpful and kind and says they are the best value Japanese binoculars around and have excellent lenses. They are much smaller than Mr Writer’s bins and made of black rubbery stuff, but I mustn’t drop them or the lens will shift. I can adjust the focus very easily, not like on the old ones. I still have to remove my specs first though, which is a drag. But I’ve put them on a string too, so I can remove them quickly if I spot a bird flying by.
I think everything should be on strings. I think I might invent a whole life built on strings. Strings for glasses, and bins – OK, that’s been done. And cameras. What about strings for drinks, for notebooks and pens, for diaries, strings for keys, for asthma inhalers, for medicines, for money, for credit cards, for books. You could have a sort of special book-shaped folder on strings, so you change the book that goes into the holder. Strings for lipstick. ‘I Can’t Survive Without my Lippy.’ Yes, I’ll invent one for Mum. Maybe I’ll be an inventor.
I’ve got one of the bird identification books with me, natch, and my notebook.
It’s a beautiful day, so calm and blue, with those little fluffy clouds you always get over the sea, but there’s hardly a person to be seen on our beach. We get a few groups of walkers on the coast path, always carrying
Note: At the feeder this morning – a family of greenfinches. They eat very slowly and carefully, standing on the perch, usually two at a time, and chewing away at the sunflower seeds, occasionally looking over their shoulders. One male blackbird drinking from the galvanised bath that’s full of water. It was my idea to put a branch across it so the birds can perch on it and lean over to drink. Blue tits, great tits – they are twice the size of blue tits and have beautiful distinctive markings. Dunnocks (which are lovely, like tabby cats) and a robin, feed on the ground. They are ‘ground-feeders’ – that figures. The blackbird likes apples and plums and pear cores.
I had to go out and bring in Charlie – she was pretending to be a bush under the feeder, not a very green bush, I have to say, before any of the birds came for breakfast. I suppose she thought a little bird was going to drop into her mouth, just like that.
It’s been a very exciting day altogether, nature-wise. We were sitting outside having a lunch of egg sandwiches when the peregrine came and perched in the tree in front of us. We had to sit very still so as not to frighten it off. I didn’t have my bins, unfortunately, but I could see it anyway. It sat there while Mum’s cold wine got warm. But she was very good about it and nearly as excited as I was. It flew away behind the house. Perhaps it was hunting for food for its chick.
HAVEN ’ T SEEN GINNIE the policewoman at all.
‘Mum, do you think I should phone Ginnie and tell her about our sighting of the falcon?’
‘Who’s Ginnie?’
‘The wild-life warden, Ginnie the policewoman.’
‘Do you think she’ll need to know that?’
‘Well, at least she’ll know it’s still alive.’
‘Go on then.’
I phone the local police station and they say she’s not there but they’ll tell her I called.
I have a new pair of binoculars. I paid for them with the money that Daddy gave me for my birthday. I wrote a thank you letter of course. I hope he won’t be cross that I didn’t buy a dress. He does like me to look pretty-pretty. He doesn’t seem to realise that I’m not a girlie sort of a girl.
Mum says he’ll want to take me out with him to dinner and stuff and Show me Off when I’m older.
Why doesn’t he want to do that now?
He’s gone off somewhere on holiday with The Lovely Eloise. Tuscany, I think. Mum says he’s got a String-fellow Complex, whatever that is. I hope it doesn’t hurt.
I’m off out with my new bins. They are so light, I can’t believe it. They are 7 x 25, whatever that means. The man in the shop did explain but I’ve forgotten. He was very helpful and kind and says they are the best value Japanese binoculars around and have excellent lenses. They are much smaller than Mr Writer’s bins and made of black rubbery stuff, but I mustn’t drop them or the lens will shift. I can adjust the focus very easily, not like on the old ones. I still have to remove my specs first though, which is a drag. But I’ve put them on a string too, so I can remove them quickly if I spot a bird flying by.
I think everything should be on strings. I think I might invent a whole life built on strings. Strings for glasses, and bins – OK, that’s been done. And cameras. What about strings for drinks, for notebooks and pens, for diaries, strings for keys, for asthma inhalers, for medicines, for money, for credit cards, for books. You could have a sort of special book-shaped folder on strings, so you change the book that goes into the holder. Strings for lipstick. ‘I Can’t Survive Without my Lippy.’ Yes, I’ll invent one for Mum. Maybe I’ll be an inventor.
I’ve got one of the bird identification books with me, natch, and my notebook.
It’s a beautiful day, so calm and blue, with those little fluffy clouds you always get over the sea, but there’s hardly a person to be seen on our beach. We get a few groups of walkers on the coast path, always carrying
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