NATIVE HARDBILLS
THE football chant “you're not singing any more” springs to mind when I look out of the kitchen window towards the flights. I refer to the end of the breeding season and start of the moult.
It's very quiet here as I write. The only birds in song are a cock goldfinch, with a hen on the nest, and one or two young birds that are starting to warble. Elsewhere, all appears to be at a