IT seems to me that the humble sparrow has always been present at key moments in my life. It came home to me many years ago.
Having just arrived in Bermuda and taken a phone call at the airport that my new boss, who was coming to collect me, had been delayed, I perched myself on a wall outside the terminal building to take in the breathtaking view.
Almost immediately a gang of sparrows gathered around, presumably in the hope that there might be a snack in the offing.
It was hard for me to believe; there I was in that sub tropical idyll, but instead of birds of paradise or cockatiels whizzing round my head, there to greet me was a small herd of spadgers looking as if they had just stepped, or rather flown, out of an English garden.
Unaccountably though, it somehow made me feel welcome and quite at home.
Five years previously, on my first wedding day – a day that shall live in infamy, to quote a certain American President – a cheeky little sparrow had defaecated on the shoulder of my 30 guinea suit as I was entering the church.
I believe now that there was no malice intended, but that it was simply an avian warning of impending doom.
I should have listened.
Now this morning as we enjoyed coffee at our regular stopover after a lengthy pre-breakfast walk, here they all were right on cue.
We are well known to this Los Dolses chapter of house sparrows, who await our arrival with baited beaks in the sure knowledge that the Princess will feed them with small chunks of her complimentary biscuit.
I have to be honest and admit that I too, find these little blokes charming and thoroughly engaging. There were some very cute infant birds present, and as I watched an attentive little mum feeding crumbs to one of her demanding offspring, I had this thought:
Without the politics, hatred, Brexit and indeed, humankind itself, this would surely be paradise Earth.