A few days of warm sunny weather, and spring is definitely here. Apart from the sunshine, the most joyous aspect is the birdsong. Skylarks have just started singing high over the fields, their wings flickering light and dark against the sky as they hover, borne aloft on a torrent of song like tiny Harrier jump-jets. I know it’s all explained by testosterone and territory, but hard to believe they don’t feel some exhilaration in their behaviour.

Garden trees are full of boisterous chirping sparrows, chaffinches and bluetits knocking blossom down in a gentle blizzard as they scurry through the branches, and at the tops of the bigger trees, the holy trinity of British birdsong can be heard intermittently from morning to late afternoon – robin, songthrush, blackbird. Who can fail to respond positively to such a divine soundtrack?

(If you don’t know the blackbird’s song, there’s a clip here.)