I’d intended to write about a great idea (the book book – maybe tomorrow), but instead I’ve just amused myself for five wasted minutes in the garden, whistling imitations of my three or four local blackbirds’ songs. (I’m a good whistler.)
They’re good whistlers too, and seem to be conducting conversations, across a range of a few hundred yards. After my abject failure to transliterate the strange bee/donkey/ventilator Sound, I’m not going to go there: if you want to hear them, get your own blackbird-equipped garden. (I should, in this day and age, be possessed of the means to record, store and upload soundclips, but I'm not.)
I know, it’s territorial marking and mating invitations. So I’ve probably caused untold disruption – in fact, they seem to have gone quiet while they think about it – and I can expect them down the chimney any time later.