Why I'm sick of tweets! No, not that sort!
Yet another bad night found me on the patio at first light, clutching coffee, as the sun crept over rooftops.
All along the row of terraced back gardens, I could see neighbours limping out in pyjamas, blinking in resentment at the brutality of the hour. One blearily scowled at me over the fence. ‘This is getting ridiculous,’ we agreed.
I’d been dragged from sleep at 5.30am by a ceaseless racket — a cacophony that has gone on for three months, that no earplugs block out.
Yet we are not talking about a troublesome neighbour here, a student house whooping it up or a couple having ding-dongs (this is a very nice suburb of North London, I’ll have you know. The only usual disturbance is the convoy of Ocado or John Lewis vans arriving on Saturday morning).
No, we are talking about a blackbird. The cheeky chappie who hops jauntily around flower beds: a much-loved part of English gardens and suburbia.
Only this is no ordinary blackbird. We seem to be hosting the Godzilla of the blackbird world. A muscly, arrogant, foul-tempered thing. I mistook him for a crow at first.
And the lungs on him! As I type, I am sitting in a brick-built house that withstood air raids of two world wars. The double-glazed window is shut but I can still hear him, shouting his beak off (mellifluous bird song this is not). I don’t think he ever breathes in — from 5am to 9pm. You can see why his cuteness is wearing thin.
I love birds in the garden. Before anyone is up (I am a bad sleeper) I like to sprinkle dried mealworms, peanuts or suet grains on the bird table, and wait with a coffee to see who visits.
During winter I’ll wrap up, with a Parka over my pyjamas, to greet the robins. They got quite tame, pecking at toast crumbs on my plate if I sat still enough.
I’ve joined those middle-class, middle-aged suburban nature lovers who send sales of bird feed soaring. No stale bread round here — our birdfeed is ordered online, and we pick up fat balls or seeds at the garden centre.
And that is our problem. This bird, over-fed and over-confident, is now a bully, and doesn’t see why he should share ‘his’ bountiful garden. He won’t let up until we’ve all cleared off — birds, humans, cats, the lot.
He even dive bombs us, flying a low arc over the garden when anyone is out there, to try to scare us off. The cat is terrified and won’t go out, instead sweating it out under the kitchen table. Other birds make themselves scarce, too. My beloved robins haven’t been around for ages.
So what can we do? Not that we’d want to (despite a few dark thoughts at 5am) but it’s illegal to kill birds in this country under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981. I explained this to my 17-year-old son (at the end of his tether, revising for his AS Levels) as I saw him murderously searching for a slingshot in the attic.
According to Dr Martin Fowlie of the RSPB, I should be flattered to have the bird’s approval for creating his lovely home. Blackbirds, he said, are doing well in Britain. We’ve had a mild winter and are enjoying a love affair with birds, thanks to TV shows like BBC’s Springwatch, so numbers are healthy.
They’ve adapted well to suburbia too, with worm-filled lawns and deep pockets for fancy bird food. They hit the breeding season plump and raring to go.
This is no ordinary blackbird. We seem to be hosting the Godzilla of the blackbird world. A muscly, arrogant, foul-tempered thing
‘The noise is the alarm call,’ Martin said. ‘I assume there is a nest with young and he is protecting them. Blackbirds are territorial, but it’s unusual to hear of them swooping on people.
‘You’ve got to respect him; he is being a top father and doing everything he can for his family, as frustrating as that may be for everyone in the area. But having nesting birds in your garden is good for us. Studies show that being close to nature is beneficial for physical and mental health.’
As for how long we’re going to have to put up with it, Martin has bad news. This could go on until September. Although his chicks will soon fly the nest, there’s time for him to raise another family before the season is over. Blackbirds are mostly monogamous, but ‘won’t pass up an opportunity for a bit on the side’ if one presents itself. So he could have another nest to protect soon.
I find comfort looking at forums online. Bullying blackbirds are the talk of the twitchers, who complain they muscle in on food and scare birds away in a scramble for morsels. Tips include having multiple feeding stations to ease squabbling, and a bit of ‘chasing off’, with arms raised, when it all gets too much.
An acquaintance filmed a cocky bird storming into her kitchen to dig through the bin. He looked annoyed to be disturbed.
So it seems as though I’m going to have to stock up on coffee and see these early meetings with the neighbours as community bonding, as we wait for Chirpie Charlie to raise his young and leave us alone for another year.