82. A Goldfinch

I am quite blind, and a bit dim, but I do like watching the birdies flit about in the garden and at the beach. Recently in London my eye has been caught by a tiny little bird which flashes gold as he flies past. My oracle on these matters, my friend Mr Matthew Hunt Esq., thought that maybe I was catching a glimpse of a goldfinch. Reader, in this he was entirely correct. As ever.

Yesterday as I sat in the eyrie weeping with and for one of my characters (it must be going well if it makes me weep, surely?) the most beautiful bird I have ever seen close up landed no more than three feet away, on the parapet outside my window. I had to stop crying immediately because I couldn't see him for tears. He had a scarlet and white and black face, and honest-to-goodness GOLD on his wings. I held my breath, but still he flew away.

Then he came back, and had a look at me. I don't think he would have thought me breathtakingly beautiful, but you never know. I think he might have babies nearby. I can hear chicks cheeping, so I have been shouting and throwing things at the magpies and wood pigeons in the hope that my Goldfinch and maybe his lovely wife and babies will remain unmolested by those grotesque vandals.

The thought that he might come back and let me look at him again provides all the inspiration I need to be at my desk early, and to stay late. I am going to put some nuts out on the parapet now for him. I'll let you know if there are any developments...