In the world of avian beauty contests you will search hard to find a more gorgeous bird than the azure-winged magpie. This unlikely-looking member of the crow family is a feathered dandy, a creature suited out like a Chelsea swell. In these parts he is as shy as he is handsome, which means that to admire him properly, one has to entice him to a meal before retiring oneself to some discreet vantage point.
Although the magpie scorns ordinary bird food, he has a weak spot for cat nibbles. These he spots during a recce flypast. Next he swoops in to a handy branch to check that the coast is clear before hopping on to the bird feeder to gorge on nibbles.
On special occasions, he brings a friend along to enjoy the feast. Then you're treated to such a sight at this. What I don't have is a picture of the magpie perching on one side of the bird feeder, eyeballing a protesting pigeon on the other. The pigeon, a frequent visitor that hogs(?) the bird feeder, held its wings up like some medieval angel - as if to double its size - until the magpie gave way.
MARY'S GARDEN
Like most weeks, this has been a garden-centred week. But with seeds and pollen of every kind filling the air, it hasn't been a good week for hay-fever sufferers. My poor Jones, who is thus afflicted, has been staggering around with a tissue held to her nose like the unfortunate Vera in Giles' cartoons.
The situation has been aggravated by the whir of strimmers, both by locals - myself included - and council workers trimming the village's vastly overgrown road verges. The workers haven't reached us yet. I hope they do soon for we can barely get down our road at present without scraping against the encroaching jungle of branches, grasses and bears' breeches.
FEEDING COLLAR-CAT, ONE OF THE WAIFS
Jones battles thus every spring and until such time as we can afford to commute annually between hemispheres or take extended cruises, it's hard to see things improving. She is looking after Marie and Olly's little dog, Poppy, for a few days while Poppy's owners are on holiday. Last week she performed the same service for a Portuguese neighbour whose dogs are the parents of two of ours.
In between times we feed the two strays that patrol the road between the village and the Alto Fica stop-street. Much to our frustration, the smaller of the two absolutely refuses to allow the larger to eat, rushing from one side of the road to the other to chase its rival away from the food we put down. Nature does not encourage sharing. I have often pondered on Screwtape's admonition to the hapless Wormwood that "to be" means "to be in competition". It certainly does where strays are concerned.
For my part, the strimming aside, I've been working with Nelson to bring the unruly park under control and to fetch tractor loads of rocks from the valley for the paths and walls that my Saturday morning workers continue to build. Each improvement brings a brief flush of pleasure before fading into the background of familiarity. If only novelty lasted a little longer!
ABUTILON BLOOMS
I was surprised last Monday to discover from my pupils that the class I was giving was the last of the academic year. At the end of it they presented me with a liquid farewell gift, along with a touching thank you note that read:
LARKSPURS
Professor (teacher) Terry Benson
We, your students, gratefully acknowledge the amiable manner in which you bring us your lessons. We are counting on your collaboration and patience during the coming academic year.
MALVA
Anyone who happened to enter the classroom during the vigorous Portuguese arguments that characterise these sessions would be astonished to learn that an English lesson was allegedly underway.
inter ALLIUMS
In the good old days, the senior university would celebrate the end of term by presenting each of the voluntary teachers with a specially-commissioned gift and organising a slap-up banquet at a posh hotel down on the coast. Austerity has swept such luxuries away. The gifts are no more and a modest dinner at a community centre now suffices to mark the occasion.
On the media front we can't escape the frenzied UK Brexit debate as the Conservative party continues to tear itself asunder. I have a vision of Britain voting narrowly to leave the EU, then of Scotland voting for independence and of the little Englanders finally discovering that little England is all that's left of Great Britain. Jones finds it all quite depressing.
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