So what did you do Saturday?  Well I had to work.  Well, I say work.  What I was supposed to be doing was cleaning (Office, Casks, Brewhouse, Staff Kitchen etc etc), whilst minding some yeast that seems to be on a go slow.  In truth, I spent most of the day on a bit of admin (ie working out what taxes need paying this week and if we falling foul of current rules on not upsetting people from somewhere or other), and then got down to some serious work involving bits of plastic (it's best not spoken of further, else you'll think me very sad).  The reason?  The singing of the skylarks, the sunshine, and just the whole atmosphere that is Greys on a quiet sunny day.  Hell, there wasn't even any droning aircraft either.

All through my childhood, there was a sound that was summer holidays, wandering the footpaths with friends, enjoying the weather, the company, and the world around us.  We knew daffodils from dandelions, but that was about it.  Off we'd toddle for the day, walking/cycling miles.  Not once did we steal, vandalise or otherwise behave badly.  It never crossed our minds, and believe me, it's not that we were all the school goody-goody (well, perhaps we were when compared to today - even the 'yobs' of our time were goody-goodies in comparison).  But overriding it all was that one sound.  We knew it was a bird - or maybe loads of birds, but that was all, it never occurred to us to ask.  After all, we didn't do birdspotting.  Years later, whilst in a real job that paid an income, I heard the sound again.

"That's a Skylark" I was told, upon commenting along the lines of the rose-tinted memory above.   And so, Saturday, listening to several Skylarks at once, proved to be a nice relaxing day, worth more than a week on the Costa Del Spaniard.  And the best bit of all, I now know how to spot them in the air - I learnt this when we first moved up here, and so each year I still find their acrobatics fascinating.  Think of a toy kite that whistles and goes very high before literally falling back down to earth.  Now make it look much better than it sounds.

But Saturday evening, as thoughts turned to getting off home, and what I may have for tea, I swear I heard a Bittern.  I can't of done though, not really.  But I heard it again a bit later, and then again Sunday morning whilst attending to the by now sorted yeast.  Trouble is, I really, realy can't imagine why one would have been here.  So it must have been something else.  Shame.   And that is why no-one will get beer on time this week.  I've been listening to birds.

In other news, amphibious activity is increasing as legions of frogs, newts & toads head to the pond/reed bed (possibly the biggest area of water/moistness round here), mostly it seems by the route most likely to get them trodden on or driven over.  And the award for 'Missed Photo Opportunity Of The Week' goes to the fight between a rather bold male Pheasant who was so keen to protect his harem of lady Pheasants that he had a pop at a Heron who elected (unwisely) to overnight in the field.  Viewed through binoculars, the Pheasant was squaring up, and indeed reaching out peck the poor Heron.  Now your Heron has some big wings, and a bill that is built to stab fish without asking permission first, so it was one brave pheasant.  I'm not sure who won, as they both moved away at much the same time.

Still no Swallows, although they have apparently been seen to the south of the county.  But we have been visited by a Red Kite, and there has been increasing activity in the Raven department in the last few days, so interesting season is certainly with us.  Unless of course, like me, you don't do birdspotting...