About the only joyfull birdsong heard here for a few days was the backing track to a friend's Smurfs iPhone game. Better than nothing, but hang around in Smurfland too long and I'm pretty sure my mind would turn to blue jelly.
Then, Wednesday morning, the snow finally slipped down the drain and the feathered fraternity around my way went mad, celebrating Christmas early with a chorus so full and throaty you knew the area's worms were in for it.
No offence to any worms present, but I hope the birds gorge themselves, because more snow could fall and where would the robins etc. be then, poor things, for the cold kills birds as well as old people who can't afford to put the heating on.
At Christmas when I was little Blue Peter presenters would urge viewers to feed some titbits to the birds. I can now reveal that I never took up these annual pleas, partly because I felt uneasy about what a 'titbit' might be. But anyway, in My Name is Earl-style, I now ask people to think of the birds.
Leave out a few crumbs and crusts (“Titbits”) and then you can go and scream at the ungrateful kids/get pissed/turn into blue jelly with a clear Christmas conscience.