After a relentlessly dull and drizzly winter – unseasonally wet even for these notoriously showery islands – the sun finally poked through the low cloud and the mercury started to rise. It’s almost time for the annual garden nip and tuck and to call in the chimney sweep. Let’s hope it’s not a false dawn. Mother Nature can be a fickle mistress, and the old girl has been in a filthy mood of late.

Right on cue, flirty birds are feeling horny, pumping up the volume during the morning squawk. Light sleeper Liam was woken by a particularly lively gig. Curious to know what had ruffled his feathers, he took to his handy phone app to identify the culprits. It turned out to be a mixed choir of woodpigeons, jackdaws, moorhens, robins, redwings, and collared doves, with solos from a hooting tawny owl and a rat-tat-a-tatting woodpecker.

I, on the other hand, could sleep through a hurricane and didn’t hear the chirpy, chirpy, cheep cheep.

Cue the completely unrelated 1971 number 1 from the Scottish band Middle of the Road. Thanks for the memory.