Robert McNeil: I will defend small garden birds and my right to eat steak pies

Published on Wednesday 13 May 2009 15:03

I'VE had so much to write about of late – what with trying on a new suit and everything – and have been so wordulalry incontinent, that I've fallen behind in recounting my adventures hither and yon, though never too far from the house.

My trip to a cottage at Coveyheugh, near Reston in the Borders, was made last month. It was such a lovely drive down, past bucolic countryside, and you got the sea thrown in as well. The cottage was a delight, but the real surprise was the garden and what lay beyond. It was just a small garden but so tasteful, with cracked logs, urns, and statuettes carefully strewn. I wish I was tasteful.

A path led directly from the bottom of the garden, winding through trees, down to a river. Across the river, in a field by a copse, a deer appeared. Looked. Disappeared. On a curious spit of grass, I did some Chinese exercises, watched only by daffodils and the deer peering through the trees. You'll think I'm laying it on thick, but a rainbow really did appear. Later that evening, I watched a Japanese movie on DVD. I was intrigued to discover it featured a character trying to find a rainbow.

In the beautiful, sunny morning, the garden was a cacophony of cheeping, cooing, cawing, buzzing and I'm sure, in the distance, at least one moo. The feeders hanging in the garden brought a fantastic array of birds: tits, robins, dunnock, finches, and even a woodpecker. True, there was a dull roar from the A1 and, to the front of the cottage, the London trains careened by. But these latter were past in a flash, and the road was sufficiently distant to form only background noise. Once more, I took the winding path down to the narrow river. What could be better than standing by fresh running water, breathing deeply? It's a reminder of how different our lives – or at least locations – can be. I think I wrote last year, after a lovely experience near a hired cottage in Galloway, that these places are out there, waiting for us to find them.

Best of all, here at Coveyheugh, no one could see. It's what we all want: a bit of our own forest where no one can annoy us. Woodland creatures must want the same, and probably know better how to get it, but there are always things trying to kill them, under the sadistic system of nature created by Jehovah the Merciless.

I saw evil buzzards circling nearby trees, and cheered the crows who harassed them. I've seen crows kill baby birds but, by and large, they do a good job of mobbing the serious monsters who infiltrate the skies like feathered al Qaeda.

Back in the garden, the little fellows were so happy (they were; you could see they were enjoying themselves), then it happened: a sudden thud against the conservatory window. A hawk. All went silent. Death and evil had visited Eden.

Recently, I'd a discussion in a pub with one of those unevolved folk who "realistically" identify with nature red in tooth and claw. But these citizens aren't realistic at all, unless realism can be defined as "a lack of imagination". He dredged up the dreary charge of anthropomorphism, but that's something I deplore. Besides, this was coming from a man who had a cat called Bernard and whose dominant mode of discourse with it consisted of the words: "Goo-goo!"

Hawks have infiltrated some of my favourite places and, where before there was once birdsong, there's now silence, punctuated only by their evil shrieks. How I would wreak a terrible revenge on them. I am the defender of small garden birds, and all who threaten them shall tremble at, er, my approach, ken?

Back at the cottage, I found books on improving oneself, and much of the advice consisted of eating vegetarian meals. So, I went into town and bought a veggie recipe book from Mr WH Smith the stationer. In the car park of Mr Morrison the grocer, I selected a meal and wrote down the myriad ingredients. Shopping for them took ages. There weren't only vegetables of every kidney to find, but oils, sauces, and herbs. I was getting famished and wabbit which must explain why, on an impulse, I shoved a packet of five mini-steak and gravy pies into my basket.

By the time I got home, I couldn't be bothered cooking the veggie meal, and just had the pies cold. Not all of them, you scurvy knaves! Don't be absurd. I only had four and kept the other one for breakfast. Worst of all, I sat eating the steak pies while flicking through the book of veggie recipes. Deplorable. I'm worse than a hawk, me.