We are in the Village Pub.
“I cannot believe you did not notice them,” I scold Short Tony. “There were thousands of photographers, with their long lenses. Hundreds and thousands of them.”
Incredibly, Short Tony has been oblivious to the presence of the rare Gribledy-Grob bird that has been visiting the tree in the front of my garden. He just does not take an interest in important Village affairs like this. Anybody would think that he has some sort of proper job, a social life, etc.
“To be honest, that seems a bit dodgy,” he reflects. “Pointing cameras up at the front of the house. My teenage daughter’s window is up there.”
“It is all right. You cannot look into her window without climbing up on a stepladder to see over the hedge,” I reassure him.
We discuss the Gribledy-Grob for a while. It has been an odd experience, with the fame of the bird spreading round the UK and beyond. I am even number one on Google now for the rare Gribledy-Grob – higher even than the RSPB. That is the power of blogging. But the madness seems to be over now; the bird has not returned to my tree for many days.
The next day, a man calls at my door.
“Have you any tree or garden work that needs doing?” he asks. “I am in your area now.”
I scratch my chin.
“Actually,” I reply, “this is a stroke of luck. There is a tree in the front garden that needs pruning. Severely.”
We agree a price and he turns to go to his van. “While you’re there,” I add, “you could take that hedge down a bit.”