Adventures of a Lone Bass Player

Bess showed further evidence of recovery from her near-death experience when she chose to accompany me today on a wander towards the steading sited at the top of the farm track that runs past The Rural Retreat.

Another mild almost-spring day had already attracted the increasingly perky puss into the great outdoors, so little encouragement was needed for her to follow me beyond the Retreat’s boundary into the wide world where careless cats can suffer mysterious accidents.

This may have been her first foray up the track since her mishap. However, she appeared to enjoy her walk, stopping every few steps to investigate scents and movements in the grass and bramble bushes that line the route and shouting at me to stop if I got too far ahead.

She seemed set to walk all the way to the steading, but halfway there she stopped, yowled uncertainly, then turned around and headed back to the Retreat without waiting for me.

Was this the site of her accident? Or – much more likely – was her discomfort something to do with feathers from a presumably ex-woodpigeon scattered around the verge?

The last thing a convalescent kitty needs is a reminder that she shares her territory with some scary predators.

There’s a lot of it about. Tonight’s gathering of The Band With No Name And No Jim was called off because both Adam and I were suffering from colds. We’ll try again next week, when Jim’s back from his oil rig. Assuming that everyone else is healthy.

Matchgirl’s latest jaunt to Shetland was well timed. She flew away yesterday, leaving me alone – which is the way I prefer it when I’m not feeling the best.

Bess must have picked up the vibes, for she let me stay in bed until 8.30 before demanding food. After eating her fill Nurse Bess settled on her mat at the top of the stairs from where she could keep an eye on me in bed. What a good cat.

Christopher Brookmyre also kept me company. If you've not read his books, you really should.

The Rural Retreat's first snowdrops appeared overnight – spring can't be far behind.

Bess celebrated by embarking on an afternoon mouse hunt, as a result of which The Invisible Pine Marten will eat well tonight. It's an ill wind, etc.

The weather, unfortunately, was far from springlike; grey drizzle did little to tempt us out of the cottage and nothing for photographic endeavour. I amused myself instead with John Grisham (who has his place) and by adding a Videos page to my website where my collected YouTubes can be found.

Matchgirl spent the day on one of her exhaustive and exhausting internet researches, eager to find London accommodation that meets her exacting standards ahead of a business trip in April. A girl can never plan too far ahead.

People lucky enough to have a few quid in the bank may have noticed that their interest is not as interesting as it used to be. My most recent financial bonus was barely enough to buy fish and chips for two.

So I was delighted to be told of an alternative way to expand my meagre savings – by dabbling in the stock market.

I didn’t leap blind into the world of high finance, of course. That would be reckless and silly. Inside information was supplied to me by boardroom moles in not one but two promising business enterprises. Much money is to be made, I was advised. One punter – sorry, investor – has allegedly put his house on the line, he’s so confident of vast returns.

My informants’ enthusiasm was such that I’ve bought a pair of red braces and converted a six-figure sum (if the decimal point is moved) into shares in a British company with interests in the southern hemisphere and an Australian company with interests in the northern hemisphere. The internet makes such transactions dangerously easy.

That was two weeks ago. In the first week my portfolio’s value rose by around seven per cent. In the second it fell back to the start point then dropped seven per cent.

Fortunately, these are slow-burning, long-term investments, not something that will make the residents of The Rural Retreat rich overnight. A few initial fluctuations are only to be expected. Nothing to worry about.

So I’ll give my moles the benefit of the doubt. But if the fall continues I may have to pursue them with a shovel.

Musical Musings: When was the last time you reached your destination in the car but had to stay in the driver’s seat because the music on the radio was too good to switch off?

The Beatles, the last three segued tracks on the Abbey Road album; forty years old (forty!) and it still sounds fresh.

I’ve got the LP, and all the rest, safely tucked away in a corner of the Retreat. Shame I don’t have a record player any more.

Everyone’s heard tales of the accident victim who wakes up with a new personality. I’m inclined to believe that this can happen to cats too.

Since her near-death experience last year, and the enforced recuperative incarceration, Bess has become an increasingly changed moggy. In the past, apart from the occasional scamper, she played in a mostly half-hearted manner, as though frolicsomeness was something slightly beneath her.

Now, at around seven years old, she’s regressed into a kitten. There’s nothing she likes more (apart from eating) than chasing her mouse on a string around and beneath the coffee table or wrapping her paws around the legs of the dining table while scrabbling at the furry remnant with her back legs. Very sweet – even when you’ve seen her in action with the real thing.

This is all the more remarkable when you consider that Matchgirl had to teach the ex-rescue cat how to play and the formerly forlorn feline never quite got the hang of it. Now that she has she’s making up for lost time.

So working at home, as I have been for the past couple of days, means regular interruptions by a pleasure-bent puss who thinks that because I’m available and Matchgirl isn't I’ve nothing better to do that swing her mouse around until she grows weary of the chase.

I can think of worse ways to spend a day.

Photo Update: Cromarty Camera Club’s competition tonight was for a portfolio of four A4 prints on a related theme. And the winner was… Bassman! The quality quartet was made up of Namibia snaps, all of which had featured in my LRPS entry. I had intended to submit a small flock of garden birds but left printing until too late. They’ll keep for another time.

The Rural Retreat's feathered freeloaders appear to have got the measure of the resident small game hunter. There's nothing to fear, they've decided.

Earlier today, Bess was seen sneaking through and around the rustic gate on which The Invisible Pine Marten enjoys his nightly snacks, close to the feeders that satisfy our flying visitors during the day. Much inch-by-inch creeping and tail-twitching was done, Matchgirl reports.

The birds were neither fooled nor impressed. An increase in tweeting confirmed that she'd been spotted, but the rise in avian volume was more likely down to amusement than alarm. The feeding continued undisturbed.

I missed the excitement, being stuck in the Dickensian gloom of GnoME HQ, so there are no dramatic snaps of Bess's humiliation with which to illustrate this tale. I suspect she's quite relieved about that.

Music Update: The Band With No Name And No Jim gathered yesterday evening. After climbing the snowbound north face of Gordon's drive we were able to further extend the set. It's not the same without our missing co-guitarist but progress was made. Slow but sure.

The dusting of snow turned into a couple of inches overnight on Friday, plus several flurries yesterday and today. Matchgirl was delighted.

Sadly, there's not enough to keep me at home tomorrow, when I begin a four-day stint at GnoME HQ. There's always the chance of a midnight blizzard, of course. Fingers crossed.

The snow has brought the yellowhammers back to the garden, which is good news. The woodpecker also made several flying visits while the usual suspects gorged themselves on free food but nothing of note was snapped.

To compensate I created another audio visual extravaganza featuring some of Ross-shire's scenic sights and the music of Sandy Brechin. Take a look below.


Highlight of the day was a jaunt to Cromarty where Matchgirl and I partook of the culinary delights offered by the Royal Hotel, and very tasty they were. It's a while since I've had a roast dinner. The slices of chocolate fudge cake were so generous that Matchgirl had to take half of hers home to finish later.

The only jarring note was the background music – the last day of January and the management is still playing the Christmas tape. They do things differently in Cromarty.

Winter's not over yet. More snow fell today, although more of a dusting than a fleecy blanket, accompanied at times by a horizontal wind. That seemed like a good excuse to stay indoors and play with my new toy, Windows Movie Maker.

This time James's secret squirrels got the star treatment. I've blatantly infringed Natalie MacMaster's copyright, but the video's not for gain and her fine music gets free publicity so there's no need to complain. No Boundaries is the album – well worth a listen.

I also amused myself by turning Bess into an MGM-style identifier. Simple pleasures.


Music Update: The Band With No Name have pulled out of the battle of the bands because we won't have time to reach the standard of musical excellence we'd expect to present. This will be a huge disappointment for the guys from Status Quo, but I'm sure they'll get over it.

Another grey day, which is a bit of a shame as The Chief Gnome insisted I take this week off. And Matchgirl's been busy with business – just as well as she's got a new car to pay for.

So the day was spent alone with a sleeping cat and Dalziel and Pascoe (a book, not the pale imitation TV series). Nothing wrong with that.

Only one birdie survived photographic quality control – possibly the world's most fully inflated blue tit. Gaze with amazement.

It’s a hard thing for a long-time Apple Mac-user and enthusiast to admit, but I’ve discovered something I really like in Windows XP – the Windows Movie Maker program that comes with it.

In one of those odd synchronistic happenings, just days after an audio-visual evening at Cromarty Camera Club (which featured ProShow Gold) I stumbled across the program whilst fossicking around inside my netbook. A small amount of self-instruction revealed that WMM has almost everything available in ProShow Gold, and at no cost. Result.

Much as I hate to admit it, WMM runs rings around iMovie, which comes with Mac OSX. Either my self-instruction failed or iMovie is needlessly complicated.

So today, having nothing better to do on a grey, windswept morning, I created my first AV and uploaded it to YouTube. The fruit of my labours, featuring Mr Marten, can be seen below.


The movie star still visits most evenings, after dark, for his Nutella fix. Tonight there’s an extra treat, provided by Bess whose total recovery from her near-death experience was loudly emphasised early this morning when prolonged yowls led to the discovery of a rodent corpse in the middle of the living room.

Those birds had better watch out.

Motor Update: Matchgirl signed on the dotted line this morning; in an unspecified number of weeks she will become the proud first owner of a chilli red Mini Cooper (with sun roof). So that’s where all the housekeeping money’s gone…

The decision has been made – Ms Puma is to be cast out from her home at The Rural Retreat and replaced by an upstart Mini Cooper. Matchgirl can be hard-hearted when it suits her.

She reserves the right to change her mind at the last minute – as is her prerogative – but after several weeks of humming and hawing and a few days of panic it's unlikely that the decision will be reversed.

Much creative accountancy has been performed to convince herself that she can afford the down payment and subsequent monthly outgoings, for Matchgirl is going for broke (perhaps literally) by purchasing a brand new motor, that being the only way she can get exactly what she wants.

So the new dream machine will be petrol-engined (diesel having been dismissed as too sluggish), chilli red with white go-faster stripes (vital), alloy wheels (of course), a sun roof (so she can see the stars – don't ask) and a dedicated cat-seat with miniature seat-belt (I made up the last bit). The only thing missing will be the magic 'S' after Cooper – that's too expensive even for Matchgirl.

The deal will be struck tomorrow. Delivery can't be made until February but Calterdon's salesman has urged Matchgirl to wait a little longer so The Red Devil is able to sport a '10' number plate. The driver-to-be claims not to care about such fripperies, but if an arrangement can be reached over Ms Puma's MOT, which expires in February, I'm sure that will happen.


Avian Update: Another grey day left little scope for successful bird photography, but one more species has been added to the archive – a dunnock.

Bess has become a little more assertive about the garden invaders. Earlier today she was seen sharpening her claws on the gate whilst pretending not to watch the feeding frenzy a few feet away from her. It will all end in tears.

Band Update: Jim's masters have demanded his presence back on the oil rig after all, which is a nuisance. So Friday's proposed rehearsal is off, and it may be a while before we've another opportunity. At this rate we'll never be stars.

The Highlands have warmed up since The Big Freeze became no more than a memory and a few patches of ice on The Rural Retreat's drive, but there's still one place that's guaranteed to be colder than a tax man's heart – Gordon's rehearsal room.

As has been the case at every get-together this year, overcoats were de rigueur. The drum section also sported some natty headgear at the beginning of the session. Vigorous rock and roll soon got the outerwear discarded.

Three rehearsals in quick succession have helped The Band With No Name gel and produced several songs of gigable standard. There's still a way to go with others, but we're getting there, and there'll be more all-band action soon because Jim's not wanted on his oil rig for another few weeks. A few more rehearsals and we'll be ready to wow the area's audiences once again.

One of the most promising songs is one of our latest – Foo Fighters' Best Of You – which after only a couple of run-throughs looks like one of the highlights of the set. It should go down a storm.


Motor Update: Matchgirl, after test drives today in a Mini Cooper (D, not S) and a Polo, is still undecided about the future of Ms Puma. Finance plays a part in her dilemma, as does guilt over the proposed disposal of the car she once longed to own. Women are fickle creatures.

Another day, another burst of bird photography – fortunately carried out in the morning because a sumptuous lunch at Crofters Bistro in Rosemarkie in the pleasant company of Mr and Mrs Tweedy left Matchgirl and me fit for nothing in the afternoon.

The avian antics are addictive. Watching the never-ending battle for food and supremacy is most restful, with the added incentive that the next snap could turn out to be the award-winner. That's why a new suet-filled coconut has replaced the one picked clean by the flighty freeloaders and a 12.5kg bag of seed is on stand-by for when the current stock is exhausted.


I'll look for more varied vantage points later in the year. For now I'm happy to snap from indoors in the warm, although most of the birds are so relaxed they continue to stuff themselves with seed and peanuts despite my occasional presence three or four feet from the feeders.

Even Bess, on the prowl in the now almost snow-free garden, is of little concern to birds who can never be certain where the next meal will come from.


Band Update: Yesterday's rehearsal was good in parts but progress is still rather slow in others. We're together again tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Twelve months ago, Matchgirl’s life was made complete when she drove home for the first time in Ms Puma – a car she’d dreamed of owning for years.

That was then. This is now.

When she acquired her new wheels she got a good deal – low mileage, two owners, well cared for – but what she also got was a ten-year-old machine. Things began to go wrong and wear out and, for a motorist who for many years had lived the sheltered life of a company car driver, paying her own cash to mechanics was a significant culture shock.

So Ms Puma’s days outside The Rural Retreat may be numbered.


Today she was entrusted to the top team at RM Motors who will examine her thoroughly then present a list of what needs to be done and what it might cost. Her future depends on their report.

However, Matchgirl is already looking ahead. With unusual optimism, the internet is now being scoured for a low-cost, high-spec Mini Cooper S with a sun roof and low mileage.

Anyone want to buy a Puma?

Photography can be a cut-throat business, which might explain the scandal that’s just overwhelmed one award-winning snapper.

That’s not me. The guilty party is the recent winner of the prestigious Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition, who’s now been disqualified after it was discovered that the “wild” wolf he’d snapped was a tame animal borrowed (allegedly) from a nature park.


The picture he produced was superb, but as “wild” is an integral part of the competition it should never have been entered. Tut tut.

I suppose this means I’ll have to dispose of my stuffed woodpecker and release my tame pine marten in case The Rural Retreat is raided by the photo police. Life can be hard.

Tonight's rehearsal had the potential for disaster, considering that the five members of The Band With No Name hadn't been in the same room for almost two months and most hadn't picked up their instruments for weeks.

But we're pros. The musical standard was more than acceptable. The future looks promising.

We bashed through at least enough numbers to make up a set for the battle of the bands and ended with sufficient enthusiasm to agree to meet again on Saturday when we'll brush up the songs we didn't have time for tonight and try a couple of new ones.

None of this meant as much to Matt as the opportunity to play with his new toy – a nifty drum-tuning gadget given to him at Christmas by big bro Adam. It doesn't take a lot to keep a drummer happy.


Avian Update: There was little opportunity for bird photography today thanks to extensive wood-cutting operations nearby that kept our visitors, including the woodpecker, at a cautious distance for much of the time. So here's a tree sparrow snapped a few days ago that's only just reached my Flickr site.

Remember that this used to be a music blog, before it was hi-jacked by Matchgirl and photography?

Tomorrow, all five members of The Band With No Name meet for the first time in a long time. Rock will be rolled and we might even agree a new moniker for the group – a decision given more urgency by an exciting invitation from our No1 fans, the management of The Room in Inverness.

Despite what turned out to be Shaker's farewell gig being one of our less memorable appearances, the staff have not forgotten us. So it was only natural that they'd urge us to take part in their forthcoming battle of the bands.

First prize is a place on the bill (presumably just above the printer's name and address) at the Rock 4 Life weekend on May 1-2 at Bogbain Farm, up the A9 south of Inverness, to be headlined on Saturday night by Status Quo. Sunday night's top act has yet to be revealed, although rumour has it that Bryan Adams is the man.


Our heat is pencilled in for February 18, which leaves us a month to hone a 45-60-minute set, preferably with both guitarists in attendance. Jim has confirmed he's home from the high seas on the date of the heat and would make himself available should we win our date with the wrinkly rockers.

Less encouragingly, Adam believes he may be out of the country on business at the beginning of May. We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.

Now all I've got to do is remember how to play bass. It's been a long time...

Outdoor Update: The floodwaters have gone, although there's still some snow and ice to be seen. The sandbags remain on emergency duty.

Our woodpecker made a brief appearance in the afternoon (his coconut shell is now almost empty; a replacement will be provided). Earlier, while strolling in the garden with Bess, Matchgirl spotted a hind and a fawn in Mr Moneybags' field.

The small game hunter assumed the classic feline attack pose before deciding it wasn't worth the effort. She was probably correct.

The door of The Rural Retreat was flung open this morning to reveal what had formerly been snow and ice lapping gently at the doorstep, a couple of inches below the doorway itself. Poor drainage combined with a thaw and still-frozen subsoil had produced predictable consequences.

After Matchgirl placed sandbags to hold back the tide, help was forthcoming from the delighted Snapperettes – rural children have to take their fun where they find it – who joined us in putting shovels and buckets to good use.

Eventually the drainage channel that runs past the front of the Retreat was cleared and water filled with miniature icebergs was able to make its way around the cottage and into the sinkhole in Mr Snapper’s courtyard.

A useful side-effect of this was that water no longer pooled around the doorstep, although the sandbags were left in place, just in case.

There are still several patches of standing water, the worst up to three inches deep, and slushy snow further back in the garden, but the danger of inundation has passed – unless we have some serious rain, which would be a slight nuisance. Much thought will be given to remedial works.

The Big Freeze has now become (for the time being) The Big Thaw and all the deep, crunchy snow that surrounded The Rural Retreat is gone.

However, life has got no easier – in place of snow is hard-packed ice. This is steadily shrinking but until it disappears completely there'll continue to be much motoring excitement in the vicinity of the cottage.

Both Mr Ford and Ms Puma have been briefly ice-bound on the drive, and first job this morning was to rescue the Mondeo from the corner of our parking lot where it had to be abandoned yesterday after a reversing manoeuvre was scuppered by the slick conditions.

The change in the weather has also had an adverse effect on my photographic opportunities. Today was the first chance since Monday to turn the Pentax on our feathered visitors and it soon became clear that numbers are well down. The woodpigeons have all but disappeared, which is A Good Thing, but noticeably fewer tits and finches made merry with the feeders. The woodpeckers weren't seen at all, although one was heard first thing this morning.

I presume they've returned to their natural food source. Either that or a rival is providing a more bounteous bird table. The silver lining was that as the day's been so dull I couldn't have taken any decent snaps anyway. And our seed bill for the next week will not be so heavy.

So here's an earlier woodpecker. Make the most of him for I don't know when he'll be back.


Photographic Update: Cromarty Camera Club held its creative competition last night. My scores were average, but as some much more creative efforts finished ahead of me I can't complain. Maybe next time.

Sometimes it's tough getting to sleep without Matchgirl beside me, but last night the fates conspired to keep me awake until after 2am. A cat had a paw in it too, unsurprisingly.

First the resident moggy decided she needed a midnight snack and was quite clear that I was to fix it for her. An hour later I was woken again by a self-inflicted alarm clock malfunction. An hour after that the rumble of snow sliding off the roof disturbed my peace. Life can be hard.

So today's stint at GNoME HQ was heavy going. I'm looking forward to the weekend.

Although a thaw may have begun, for the first time Mr Ford struggled to traverse the flat drive that bisects The Rural Retreat's rolling acres. Where once was snow is now only hard-packed ice. I made it, but only just.

Despite that, today was a fine, fine day, for Matchgirl returned from a verdant and snow-free Shetland to come home and be ignored by Bess. Cats don't care.

She got away at the right time, for soon the island celebrates Up Helly Aa when hordes of Vikings rampage across the land in search of Spam. This does hold a certain appeal for her, but as accommodation, flights and ferries are booked up months in advance she'd had to make her business trip earlier in the month. Maybe next year.

A woodpecker aerobatic display accompanied by a massed marten marching band followed by a ceremonial flypast of the Red Sparrows could have taken place outside The Rural Retreat today, but I’d have missed it.

Today I grudgingly returned to the Great Northern Media Empire HQ to pursue my freelance calling under the watchful eye of the Chief Gnome’s assistant for the first time since before Christmas. I left home as a hazy dawn broke and returned in the dark. Gainful employment really does get in the way of real work.

No new snaps were snapped today, nor will they be tomorrow or Thursday unless I brave winter’s blasts to go in search of exciting subject matter at lunchtime, which is unlikely.

So here’s another of yesterday’s fine avian images. The search for pictorial perfection will resume on Friday.

Today proved a productive one with the Pentax, and not just with regard to woodpecker pictures – I finally captured a half-decent blue tit. That may not seem like much but it makes me happy.

Anyone can snap a bird on a feeder (or a coconut) but to get a more wild-looking composition, in focus, in the millisecond that the smaller birds rest on a branch, takes the reactions of a fighter pilot. I've still not managed to catch a coal tit, although I've seen lots of blurry rear ends.


A robin, a great tit, another chaffinch and several more great spotted woodpeckers have joined the collection. I've no wish to overload the blog, so to marvel at them all you'll need to visit my Flickr site.

At least two different woodpeckers paid a call today, one of them several times. Sightings now seem to be guaranteed.


Capturing birds in flight will take a lot more effort, and better light than I have now – at the moment the sun barely rises on the garden – but there's plenty of time and the wonder of digital photography means I won't spend a fortune on film while I get the hang of it.

The never-ending Arctic chill struck home in The Rural Retreat today on a day that felt like the coldest one yet, both indoors and out, and followed a night that left the trees covered in a thick layer of frost.

At midday a match was put to the open fire, usually lit around 5pm, to supplement central heating that had already been turned up a notch or two. Refurbishing the Rayburn and fireplace last year was money well spent. Even so, extra jumpers and regular hot drinks were the order of the day.

The day got worse for me in the afternoon when Matchgirl left for business on Shetland. She drove herself to the airport, but only after a liberal sprinkling of yesterday’s ash gave Ms Puma’s tyres enough grip to escape the ice rink that’s our parking area. A coal fire has some unexpected benefits.


Not a single yellowhammer was seen today – they’ve clearly conceded defeat to the woodpigeons – but a woodpecker was sighted on several occasions, and in its absence drumming could be heard at the bottom of the garden. It seems the suet coconut and the peanut feeders hit the spot.

Excitingly, we appear to have more than one woodpecker – compare the neck markings and the size of today's diner with the photo of yesterday's visitor. There must be at least two different birds.

Today’s snaps (you’ll find more on Flickr) show improvement, although there’s still room for more. Maybe tomorrow – if the weather stays this cold I’ll be going nowhere further than the living room window.

Our great spotted woodpecker returned this morning, first to sample the suet-and-nut-filled coconut shell near the gate, then to attack the peanut feeder on The Nutella Tree.

When startled from his suet feast (drat those woodpigeons) he fled to the shattered pine at the far end of the garden, which may be the source of the drumming we hear now and then.

He (the red on the back of the head is the indicator) was within camera range for only two or three minutes, so there was great excitement. That probably explains why only one photo wasn't in blurryvision, and even that was a touch soft.


Although I prefer to snap the birds away from man-made objects, so I can pretend my photo shoots are performed in some remote and exotic location, I've released this one to the world because it shows what a handsome chap he is. With luck there'll be better ones to follow.

In the afternoon the temperature had risen to the dizzy heights of around 0C, which was just as well as I had to get Mr Ford on the road after Matchgirl discovered that Ms Puma had been driving around with just a thimbleful of oil in her sump.

The West End Filling Station may offer great deals on wine and spirits (which it does) but Castrol at £16 a litre seemed rather excessive. Fortunately Tesco sold it at £12 for two litres and saved us a trip to Inverness. Every little helps.

Back at The Rural Retreat, enough snow was cleared for us to see our gutters again. The plan was to empty them, for in places they bulge alarmingly, but as they proved to be filled with solid ice that wasn't possible. And the thermometer is expected to plunge again soon.

So the archive snap of the garden in May 2008 (before chain-saw Bob got at the apple tree and the lilac bushes) is a reminder that brighter days are just around the corner. The down side is that seeing feathered visitors through all that foliage will be a little difficult.

The Arctic weather that encourages Black Isle birds to make the most of the free food in our garden is the same weather that prevents me getting decent photos of the daily feeding frenzy. Most frustrating.

If I was a real photographer I'd don twenty layers of clothing and lurk all day in a hide regardless of the cold. However, I prefer warmth, so all my garden snaps are taken through the double-glazed living room window.


Two sheets of non-too-clean glass, slow shutter speed or big ISO because the diners prefer the more shady parts, and high magnification to reach the better lit but more distant Nutella Tree all contribute to noisy, unsharp photos that The Serious Lenses would regard with disdain.

I don't care (although I will if I don't get better shots later in the year). The entertainment factor is high and even a low-quality snap of a great spotted woodpecker – my first – is an achievement, especially in our own garden.

Even fewer yellowhammers were seen today – drat those woodpigeons – but as well as two brief woodpecker sightings we had another first-time visitor: a pheasant.

The action has not gone unnoticed by Bess, who spent much of the afternoon staring in amazement through the cat-flap at the woodpigeons clustered around The Nutella Tree.

For a while she sat with her head poked through the flap, her rear end in the warm, before voluntarily exiting to prowl outside the door and stare at the avian interlopers. It will be interesting to see if she can drag a woodpigeon through the flap.

The icy conditions have proved too much for fellow photographer Hamish, who despite being both young(ish) and limber lost his footing when attempting to capture some winter scenes in Inverness. The result was a broken leg.

Matchgirl and I offer our commiserations. We offer even more to Lizzie who has to look after the be-plastered invalid.