Sing when you’re wing-ing

In case you're enormously stupid, this is not a real blackbird.

If there’s an Oscar for “best soundtrack by something with feathers”, we have a blackbird near our house that should be up for a small gold bloke – presuming they have the right envelope.

Ah, Spring. Whilst it may have been a windy, sleety, rainy few weeks, the signs are definitely there. Snowdrops are giving way to Daffodils. Lambs are starting to appear, shivering bemusedly in the fields. Storms are called Doris.

Blossom is, ah, blossoming on trees, triggering the same level of amazement reserved for people who wear shorts in the first week of March. Brave? Or foolish? You have to admire the pluckiness, though.

We have a new champion of the springiest season too. A blackbird has taken up residence close by to our house, with a remarkable level of stamina rarely seen in the birdyverse. This plucky little chap starts singing at the top of his voice at the first hint of daylight.

If I wake up before the alarm clock goes off, he’s singing. He’s singing when I head for the shower, and when I come out of it. Whilst I get dressed, and right through breakfast, even up to the point I’m pulling away in the car, he’s announcing his presence, boldly, to everyone in the neighbourhood.

When I arrive back home at night, I’m greeted by his cheery tunes too. Only when it finally turns properly dark does his finally call it a day. If he keeps this up, summer could well prove very dangerous for him.

He must be exhausted by now. If he’s doing this to attract a mate, I’m amazed that we aren’t over-run with lovesick, adoring, lady blackbirds by now. Whilst he sounds fantastic to me, I’m clearly not his target audience – perhaps he’s singing the blackbird equivalent of “Save Your Love” by Rene and Renato?

If it’s a territorial thing, I’d be surprised if there is still another male blackbird anywhere in our village – this guy has the stamina of Mo Farrah crossed with Tom Jones. If I was a rival, I would definitely have given this up as bad job weeks ago and fluttered off somewhere out of the range of our vocal avian balladeer.

Of course, he may just be singing because he’s happy to be here. I am too, but I tend to display it in more muted ways, like saying “Yeah, it’s alright I guess” when asked, or occasionally looking at the scenery, rather than my phone.

Could he be the birdy equivalent of a loud teenager – constantly chattering on and offering their infinite wisdom to anyone in range, despite having been on the planet for well under two decades?

Who knows? It is lovely though. My own personal serenade, audible outside and in, reminding me that summer is on it’s way.

There is one final possibility. Maybe he’s just having conversation with his mates. In which case, I humbly suggest getting a bit closer might be a good idea – then he wouldn’t need to shout all the time.

This post first appeared as my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 3rd of March, 2017. You can view the version they used on their website here, which had "birdsong has put a spring in my step" added to the title.

I thought my little singing chum might have got tired or bored by now, or moved territory, but not a bit of it. Annoyingly, I was awake well before 7am this morning (on a non-working day. Gah!) and he was chattering away already - still is. What a trooper. He must be knackered.

(CD A-Z: A home-made Nena compilation. 1980s German pop? Hell, yeah.)

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Is it foggy? No.

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