Almost a week after the first Spotted Flycather, this morning revealed two more at the same location. One bird was softly sub-singing, although the full blown performance can't really be described as ear-splitting by any means; it's no surprise that such an unassuming bird has an understated, yet quietly pleasant song. Returning home I was greeted by neighbour with the sad sight of a freshly dead young Blackbird in his hand. I was expecting a bit of an anti-cat rant as our Polly does occasionally take birds. This particular Blackbird was one of a brood that had become really quite tame, providing a source of entertainment with their fearless, nonchalant antics which even resorted to stealing morsels of food from Ossie's bowl. But this time Polly wasn't to blame, for this particular birds demise was caused by, of all things, a falling linen prop. A quite extraordinary, unbelievably tragic end to a short life.