Two weeks ago, I discovered that a robin had built a nest on one of my bookshelves at work:
This morning, I checked the nest and found this:
I apologise if this blog has veered off on an animal-related tangent recently, but so has my life. I never expected to end up selling books surrounded by cows, horses, sheep, pheasants, dogs, robins, rats and a mink (sadly now deceased). Sometimes, I secretly yearn for the days when I lived in a flat in London.
But even my lovely 1930s flat in Twickenham didn't completely protect me from the brutal forces of nature. Copulating foxes regularly kept us awake. They also prompted me to run half-naked into the street, thinking that I was rescuing a woman from being attacked (thankfully nobody caught me standing in the middle of the road in my boxer shorts).
One day our hot water stopped working. We phoned a plumber called Trevor, who took our boiler apart and found a bird's nest inside. Trevor, who was never usually lost for words, shook his head and chuckled. Later, Trevor casually remarked that he was surprised that we hadn't suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning, as the nest had blocked up the flue.
Next time I find a large deposit of bird excrement on the computer, I will have to remind myself that there is no escape. Even in London, the animals are secretly watching and waiting.