LONG-TAILED TITS | TAKE ME BACK TO TWITCHING IN MY YOUTH

THE crackle and pop of distant bird calls snaps a drowsy woodland out of wintry torpor. Bare branches stripped of dignity by leaf fall and hushed into fretful silence by the ominous approach of Storm Claudia are suddenly brought to life.

- Stuart Winter

Garrulous long-tailed tits are on the move with a sizzle and sputter reminiscent of pouring milk on a certain brand of breakfast cereal. Crisp. Enticing. Energising. A Proustian madeleine moment reprises memories of childhood encounters with arboreal birds cast in many shapes and hues.

Those tangled woods have long since vanished under concrete and brick. One patch survives, a green sticking plaster on the suburban landscape, resisting sprawl and bubbling to the noisy entreaties of its resident troop of "flying lollipops".