Martin Magic.

The good news today is that the house martins are back on station performing aerobatics over my garden. I saw about fifteen of them this evening, and I’m hoping it’s not a flash in the pan because watching martins hunt for food is one of summer’s major delights.

But it’s July 15^th. The martins are usually here by the beginning of June, so what’s happened this year? Could it be that they’re becoming aware of climate change and flying north later? And if that is so, will they stay longer at the end of the season? It has been the case here in Britain over the past few years that the early part of summer has been on the cold side, but we’ve had warmer autumns.

Time will tell, no doubt, and I will attempt to apprise the interested reader (not ‘appraise’, note; I get so fed up with journalists, politicians and other people in the public eye using ‘appraise’ instead of ‘apprise’) of the latest situation on the house martin front. That is, of course, if I can divest myself of a current unfortunate predilection for silliness, blueness, or – heaven forbid – earnestness. No, wait: I like silliness. Silliness is good.