The two male blackbirds, which were at war yesterday morning, were still in dispute in the evening. We watched them from from the garden, on the roof of the house opposite. Their sillouhettes stood out against the bright yellow evening sky emphasing their blackness. They challenged and retreated, and then flew up in the air to clash, before dropping back to the roof. One seemed to be defending the chimney stack; the other, he with the ruffled feather still on his breast, wanted him away. This morning there is no sign of them, though they, or some other blackbirds have been singing their heads off, since the first light.
It is snowing steadily in the vegetable garden; a non-stop cloud of pussy willow seeds drifts over the beds. The seeds even settle, leaving tatters of lace on the rows of seedlings.
The plural of mouse is mice, but what if the mouse is a computer mouse? A sub-editor on the Independent seems to know the answer. The headline of a survey feature in today's paper reads: The Ten Best Mouses.