Tit wars

 I have two nest boxes in my garden. The one on the tall beech hedge by the kitchen window has been occupied for some time. A pair of blue tits have made it their forever home. It’s a good place to live, with a daily offering of 5 meal worms on the table, a selection of seeds, fat balls and insects on unsprayed plants and trees. There’s even a water slide for the kids to play on. The other nest box is behind the apple tree and it is, so far, unoccupied. There was early interest from several pairs of blue tits but it was rejected for reasons that I can only assume are to do with the neighbour behind using their gate too much. 

Yesterday’s sudden drop in temperature and flurries of snow brought a pair of great tits into the garden, looking for somewhere warmer to nest than the top of their tree. I was washing up when I saw Mr Great stick his head into the small round hole of Number 1 Tit Hollow. 

“Whoops! Sorry Mrs. Didn’t see you there. Didn’t mean to disturb. As you were. Nothing to see here,” he told Mrs Blue and flew off quickly.

Mrs Blue keeping a more careful lookout

Mr Blue came back with a beak full of old lady hair that someone had kindly left outside after emptying their hairbrush and popped inside for a little rest with the Mrs.

Mr and Mrs Great were checking the rest of the garden. They ate all 5 meal worms and picked the apple tree clean of ants. That’s when they noticed the rejected des-res. Number 2 Tit Hollow looked like a very attractive place to live. They flitted in and out, adding grass and bits of old lady hair. 

Mr Blue, fresh from his cuppa with the Mrs spotted Mr Great collecting ants from the bottom of the apple tree and thought, “I’m not having that!”

He dive bombed Mr Great, who despite his obvious size and strength advantage seemed shocked into retreat. Mrs Great wasn’t quite so keen on giving up her new home and so the Tit wars continued for the whole morning. 

I have no idea who won or whether the re-emergence of the sun in the afternoon persuaded Mr & Mrs Great that they didn’t need a cosy nest box after all. Maybe the banging gate put them off or maybe they’re self isolating at home, quietly hoping nobirdy notices them. 

Boris was on the telly again last night. He told us that he was sticking to his roadmap like glue so that the 12th of April phase of opening things was going to go ahead whatever. Then he had to confess that the scientists had told him that there was nothing in the data to suggest that this was the wrong decision (this time) and that he would be irreversibly putting a pint to his lips. I’m not going to worry about Boris downing a pint in one. He also warned us not to get too comfortable. It’s important to him that we stay scared. A scared population is so much easier to control. He told us about the third wave that’s sweeping Europe but failed to mention that it started here. He also said that he wasn’t going to give hostages to fortune.

So, on the 12th of April people will start mixing with alcohol again. Pub gardens will be the set for the human version of the tit wars, as people who have forgotten how to share a space have to learn to get along again. It’s all going to be so much fun, especially when they use Covid status certification to get nightclubs and football events up and running again. Then the tit wars will be phenomenal.