Though I swoop, yet I love,

For you below, me above,

I am a guardian of the young,

Do not expect a sparrow,

Or a dove,

Or any lesser bird than I,

I am behind you now,

Or can't you see,

My instincts are

your enemy.

The magpies are in full diving mode now. Both of my regular routes to the local shops have at least one bird on guard duty. And both birds are in a swooping mood.

Of course, one is inclined to be cross with them. I turn, frown, sometimes shake my fist. Other times I engage in a lively contre temps, though these magpies are remarkably quiet. They have no time to warble.

I often wonder that they don't chat to the local birds in my garden to find out what a nice chap I am. I am not sure, however, that they are on speaking terms!