Telegraph: In the north London park overlooked by my bedroom window, morning sounds as if winter has not yet arrived. Dunnocks and blackbirds trill in full song from trees still bearing yellowing leaves. In between gobbling mouthfuls of beechmast, a wood pigeon hoots in satisfaction.
Normally these are the quiet months, a robin the sole soprano of the season; other birds are too busy foraging for food to waste energy singing. Yet from a nearby perch one heaves its red breast just to be heard over the din....