When the water in the rivers isn't right and/or the fish are ditto, our young man in the west claims that one of the best parts of his vacation is spent looking out of the window which gives onto Cashel Bay. He observes the play of light and shade on the Twelve Bens and Cashel Hill. He notes the rise and fall of the tide and, each year, the number of slumbering posts of the resident colony of common seals, his near neighbours, which, when not recumbent and scratching, lark about in the water, even leaping out of it. The otter, who has his holt nearby, put in a brief appearance. But it is the bird life which he values most. The blackthorn trees have robin, wren and goldcrest. Blackbirds chase each other off their favourite perches. A group of swallows come circling, attracted by the insects which swarm around the house and its trees. Starlings have, unfortunately, decided to nest in the roof, and their scramblings at early hours can disturb sleep. But the chief bird of interest this time is the sparrowhawk who cruises the territory, yet was seen on one day being chased by a small bird; a single small brown bird, not a flock. And, heard but not seen, the cuckoo. The sea itself has many herons fishing patiently at low tide - oyster-catchers prise open mussels, and various members of the duck family, five in the bay. All to be enjoyed from a couch in front of a big window. Who needs television?
And to our young friend's sharp observations, a couple of modest suburban sightings. The big news is that the song thrush, for long having abandoned the local gardens in this part of south Dublin, and which surprisingly has made this spring a magnificent comeback, now accompanies at least two members of its brood, almost as big as itself, seemingly even more colourfully speckled than the parent birds, though not so well-groomed - the feathers a bit ruffled-looking. They quickly learn to dip and shake, dip and shake in the pool, one after the other, while one parent sits apart.
And blue tits end this brief chronicle. A neighbour, on her knees, weeding, noticed that one of her fruit trees was throbbing with a family of blue tits. She took no great notice until one of her cats passed by, calm and possessed - but with a blue tit in his mouth. She was able to reach out, gently take it from the cat, which meekly went on its way. She cradled the bird in her two hands for a couple of minutes; it seemed uninjured and when she opened her hand it flew briskly away. Y