Good morning, Colonel

One for sorrow, two for joy.
Three for a girl, four for a boy.

Both the title and the odd ode refer to that black and white member of the crow family, the magpie. Just why it was considered necessary to greet a magpie so respectfully I can't remember, always assuming I ever knew. Probably to ward off bad luck. A bit like the options available to one when seeing a white horse. Either hold your collar until you see a dog - or spit for luck. There is another legend attached to the crow family, this time the raven. There are ravens at the Tower of London and it is said that if ever they leave the Tower, some calamitous disaster is about to befall England. Or something like that. A bit like the legend of Drake's Drum. It is said that in a time of great peril for England, Drake's Drum will sound and the old sea dog will return to rescue his country.

But that's enough claptrap about romantic folk tales and traditions.

When I was at school, I and several of my fellow students (we were called "pupils" in those days, not like now when they have to be "students") became interested in ornithology. That sounds rather grand, but one of the schoolmasters was a keen bird watcher and his enthusiasm rubbed off on us to the extent that at weekends, and on summer evenings, we would take trips with him to go birding. Some of that interest has stayed with me ever since, although these days I would hesitate to call myself a bird watcher, far less a twitcher or ornithologist. But I enjoy, for example, watching a family of blue tits feeding in a tree. And this is where we get back to the magpie. Or rather, the magpie leads us to another member of the crow family. We do see magpies in the garden from time to time. Not as often as we see the jackdaw, another of the crow family, but more frequently than we see rooks.

As I went out the other morning to walk the dog, I heard a tremendous cawing. It was obvious that more than one or two rooks were involved. Looking around, I saw about two dozen or more on our roof, our neighbour's roof, the chimney and the televiion aerials, all jabbering away in rook-speak. I have heard of rook parliaments, where they gather in a large circle in a field, but I had never before seen one.

There have been a couple of other memorable avian moments this year, both occurring during the same week that we were in France. On the first occasion we had gone for a short drive through the lanes around our village, the Old Bat having been rather housebound for a few days. As we went along I saw a hoopoe fly up from the verge. That was only the second time I had seen a hoopoe, which rarely gets to England and which is a most striking bird with its pink, black and white plumage and its crest.

The other time I was driving back from doing some shopping. As I passed a small lake, a bird flew out from the trees round the lake and along the road in front of the car. There was a chestnut-coloured flash as it left the trees, then an electric blue flash as it went along the road ahead of me for a few yards. A kingfisher. Not a bird seen all that often but a sighting not quickly forgotten.