It’s spring – well meteorological spring at least – and the sun is making the kind of half-hearted effort I would make in chemistry lessons at school. The various neighbours are out in their gardens, pruning or digging or doing the things gardeners do. To my mind, however, it is still cold enough to send an anticipatory shiver down the spine of a brass monkey, and therefore I am more than happy to confine my digging to my photographic archives. These are allotment size – getting on for small-holding – and need regular dead-heading, sorting, grafting and cultivating. To speed me on with my efforts I have a bird, sat up in a tree – I wish I could be more exact but I was never much good at nature studies at school either. It can sit on my desk all day and sing to me. It’s spring, after all.