Spring migration

April is when the arrival of summer migrants to these islands really gets into full swing, making it (and May) probably the two best birding months of the year. You know what's coming, pretty much (although there are always unexpected vagrants and rarities to spice things up further), you just don't know exactly when, or in what numbers. Every time you pick up you binoculars and step outside the front door, you're in for a surprise or two.

Although March certainly wasn't exceptionally cold, migration seemed to get off to a slow start. Sand Martins and Wheatears trickled in locally, and I've not seen a Little Ringed Plover yet.

But what I enjoy most about this time of year, and it's something that I talked about in that recent Daily Telegraph interview, and that crops up in my book A Sky Full Of Birds, is the way that certain species arrive en masse.

Yesterday, for example, the birding news services were pumping out constant updates about sightings of Little Gulls. These elegant, neat little seabirds, a world away from the popular image of the sandwich-stealing seagull, were crossing the country on their way back north, and it seemed that every reservoir or gravel pit had a few dropping in to refuel.

Chiffchaffs, similarly, suddenly seemed to appear a couple of weeks back. One minute there was no sign of them, even though small numbers now winter here, and the next they were in every tree, with their insistent, two-note calls.

And tomorrow? Well, it's getting near Redstart time, and also around the date I usually hear my first Cuckoo. I'll be in West Wales later in the week, at the wonderful Cors Dyfi and Ynys Hir reserves, so they ought to provide plenty of opportunities to look and listen for both.

Interviewed in the Daily Telegraph

I'm interviewed in the Daily Telegraph today about my book, A Sky Full Of Birds, which is out a week today, and about how birdwatching helped me cope with depression following the death of my older sister, Rebecca, in 2004. Many thanks to Joe Shute of the Telegraph for his sensitive handling of the interview, and I'm really proud of how both it and the book have turned out. Most of all, of course, I'm proud of my sister – I miss her every day.

Laureate moans (again)

I'm no great fan of the whole idea of a Poet Laureate, at least in its current form, and I'd have to say that I prefer Carol Ann Duffy's earlier books than her more recent work. This particular moan, though, from the Rev Peter Mullen, really put my back up.

Of course, it is in the Telegraph, so a right-wing agenda can be pretty much assumed from the off. And yes, about halfway down, he starts rambling on about 'Lefties', before hammering the point home in the final paragraph. In between he runs through all the usual sneers regarding contemporary poetry.

To be fair, his arrogant disdain isn't confined to the contemporary. He also helpfully points out that Auden, Keats, Hughes and Wordsworth were merely 'competent', and 'fine' - any of you who have hitherto been labouring under the misapprehension that they were great should consider yourselves well and truly corrected.

I should say that I tend to think that there are great poems, for the most part, rather than great poets. Even minor poets sometimes write great poems. But some poets write more of them than others, and for the sake of argument might then get called great. Rev Mullen makes no mention of what, in his opinion, constitutes greatness, but from the tone of the rest of the piece I'm guessing that it's basically poetry that he likes.

Will Hay

I can remember, as a kid getting on for 30 years ago, watching a season of Will Hay films screened on BBC2 early in the evening. My parents were both big fans, so that's probably why I started watching, but it didn't take long to get hooked. They're really very, very silly, which is bound to appeal to a child, but I still enjoy them as much now as I did then, and now I appreciate there's a bit more to them.

Saturday's Daily Telegraph contained this article about a comedian who never seems to get the kudos he deserves. It calls him a missing link between the music hall and the Ealing comedies of the 1950s, but I'd go further. His on-screen partnership with Moore Marriott and Graham Moffat certainly foreshadows the likes of Dad's Army and Father Ted, while his comic anti-hero persona must have influenced characters such as Alan Partridge and David Brent. As the article says, what's great about his films is that there's little sentimentality, no attempt to ingratiate himself with the audience.

Last year, I saw Oh Mr Porter! at the Arts Centre in Stamford, and enjoyed it hugely, but my favourite is still Ask A Policeman (plot-wise, very similar), mainly because it includes a very silly poem. Hay and his two confederates need Marriott's father (he's playing both roles) to remember it to help solve the mystery. I can't recall it all without checking the film, but it starts "When the tide is high in the smugglers cove, and the headless horseman rides a-bove", and then ends with an absurdly long last line.

But anyway, I must get hold of the biography of Hay that's mentioned (as if I needed more books to read).

Poetry in the papers

It’s Monday, so it must be time to recap on the weekend's reading. The Guardian had a great double-page spread on Sharon Olds. She gets, unfairly I think, less attention than she deserves over here, probably because confessional poetry isn’t particularly fashionable or popular, but I think she proves that it’s the quality of the poetry, rather than the style, that’s what matters.

In the Telegraph, meanwhile, Nick Laird was reviewing Mick Imlah, Bernard O'Donoghue and Adam Foulds. I can't say the latter's book appeals to me a great deal, but the other two do. O'Donoghue in particular is another poet who too often seems to slip below the radar.