Look who came to dinner.

I was in the garden today, insulting the weeds (I hope to offend them into leaving) when I noticed someone new at the bird feeder. It was none other than the little sod who lost me a bet recently. I sneaked back into the house to get my camera. He can count himself lucky I don't have a gun.

A while ago, I had a bet with another Smoky-Drinker that the wren was the smallest British bird. He said it was the goldcrest. I had never seen a goldcrest so I stuck with the wren. I lost.

Fifty bloody years and no sign of one of these feathered gits, and just after I lose the bet, up he pops all tiny and fluffy and innocent looking, and hangs around eating my insect-filled fat balls just to rub it in.

I hope he gets mugged by a sparrow.

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