A flock of sparrows

Spotted on the little path by the shed at 5pm: a baby sparrow shaking in the still hot sun. What to do? I call Leonie for advice. Leonie arrives with my camera in David Attenborough outfit to take a close-up, National Geographic-type photo. It’s shaking she says. Do you think it has anything to do with your proximity I reply? Leonie asks whether we should find the baby a worm. Might we have a worm that is smaller than this creature? Unlikely. Where has it arrived from she asks? This, I do not know. I suggest a shoe-box. I don’t know what I might do with a shoe-box but I do have a redundant one in my bedroom. This suggestion being a failure, I take control and duly shut all doors in the hope that someone will come to collect this tiny being. It works: a mother sparrow arrives and somehow manages to coax the baby into the shade before its short flight into the safety of the bushes.

A little later, I am on the phone to the man-child; commiserating about unfair exams, badly marked assignments, the problems of where to spend the first England match and other such life-changing events. Being a woman and thus able to multi-task, I am also observing the arrival, on the small patch of grass, of another mummy sparrow with a brood of slightly older fledglings. She is feeding them. Suddenly, one baby, with no sense of direction, arrives in the sitting room. Oh my God I shout; I’ll have to phone you back. Distressed man-child is shouting: what’s happening mum? Are you alright? Baby sparrow, frightened by the noise emanating down the line from Swansea, quickly flies back out to rejoin its family. I inform the man-child of events. There is a lot of swearing coming through the wire from the land of the sheep.