Today I have been in the dining room, working away at laptop and papers, with the door open to the garden. Apart from the occasional train on the line behind the house, and some far distant planes, what has been the overwhelming soundtrack to the day?

Birdsong, overlaid by the very specific sounds of the pigeons nesting on top of the chimney – again. (They don’t learn. Last year we had to rescue a fledgling that had come down rather than going up). And the occasional alarm calls of the smaller birds when the magpies are marauding through the trees.

Bees: a constant background buzzing that, from time to time, lures me out with the camera and the optimistic conviction that this time I really will manage to get a sharp image. This is the best so far, but clearly the geranium bud is the star of the show:

And the wind: in the leaves of that overgrown beech tree, in the grass which can no longer be politely described as a ‘lawn’, and in the variety of leaves which rustle and tap so differently according to their age and size.

One thing has really struck me: it is never, ever, silent. Something, somewhere, is always singing, shouting, shimmering, or shaking. (A bluebottle has just buzzed in to make the point). But how much more appealing these sounds are than the rumble of traffic, unnecessary fireworks (that terrify the dog), or radios played at top volume.

Give me those naughty magpies any day!