As I write, the garden is teeming with birds - nuthatches, siskins, greenfinches, dunnocks, a robin, blues and greats, blackbirds and, of course, wood pigeons. Pleasing, because we've seen so few of the smaller birds through the summer. Plenty of house martins and swifts in Lagrasse, plus redstarts and starlings, which put on a little flying display for us one day up by the Canal du Midi. [Later: a heron also just dropped in, having forgotten, it seems, that he's already had all the goldfish.]
Perhaps yesterday's heavy rain discouraged them hereabouts, and they're making up for lost meals. The nuthatches are zooming in and zooming out again with their beaks full, almost as though they're feeding young. But it's far too late in the year for that. Or is it?
The rain certainly put us off: we set off for Brighton after lunch, but turned round at Groombridge and came home again. I dare say the flooding at the bottom of Groombridge Hill was the worst we were likely to meet, but it seemed to us that it was a risk we didn't need to take. With a miles-thick overcast, it was very dark, and a frighteningly large number of dark-coloured cars were being driven without lights. I despair of the stupidity.
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