Tufty

Here for his breakfast. The absence of Mrs Tufty (or Fatty as TallGirl rather unfairly refers to her) means they must have got a jump on the traditional start to the breeding season, and she is already keeping eggs warm in the bay tree.

Ten minute sit outside to start the day: sparrows chirping overhead, a squirrel scampering in the big fir tree, and doves fighting. Yup, our doves are not peaceable and Tufty will take on all-comers - anything bigger than a blackbird is banned from his bird tables. We kept adding new tables in different bits of the garden, but he just folds them into his territory and fights anything that tries to steal his food. I don’t know where he finds the time.

Well, those contracts won’t write themselves, off for another day at the sub-sub-clause factory.