Went for a short saunter at about five a.m.

A little bird was singing his head off in a tree nearby. Now, this struck me as odd. It was a very dark, cloudy morning and about two hours before dawn. No moon, no starlight. Unless the little fella was using his smartphone, how did he know to start singing? How did he know it was getting near waking up time? Maybe it was just so damn cold he couldn’t keep still any more.

I am always amazed at the courage of little birds. They sit in a freezing cold tree all night in the dark and then in the morning, there they are, singing their heads off: “I ain’t dead yet! Yippee! Tra-laa-laa!”

That’s optimism of the highest order.

And if you think they don’t have the brain power to think like that, you try it for a couple of nights.

Meanwhile, where the watermeadow has flooded, a bunch of ducks had parked up for the night.

They do that a lot, and from the raucous quacking and cackling that goes on in the evening, I reckon they have some sort of comedy club going and take it in turns to tell dirty jokes.

Anyway, there they were, five in the morning, mooching about in the water. What does it feel like to spend months on end with yer bum in freezing cold water and no wellies on your feet? Don’t give me all that about they’re built for it. It can’t be much fun.

Even for ducks, freedom comes at a price. They come and go as they please, but they have to watch out for predators and forage for not much food. Summer is a long way behind and a long way ahead.

A nice warm farm, protection, food and then death. Not such a bad deal.

But, if they make it through to summer, well that’s different.