Redbreast

However hard I think I work sometimes, there’s definitely one fellow who’s working harder.

This robin took up residence in the chaotic spill of ivy engulfing part of my garden fence, and at all hours of the day, little Wyclef (we had to give him a name, and it was that or Brutus) has been either nesting or swooping back from neighbouring gardens with morsels for his young.

In truth, I suspect part of the reason he seems to be so productive is that, to our casual eyes, ‘he’ is in fact both Mr and Mrs Wyclef. Both of them, however, have the lack of fear of humans characteristic of all their ballsy little red-breasted brethren, and they always stop off on the garden chair for a little look around before they head into the hedge.

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