Contrary to popular belief, the sole purpose of a weekend is to make life just that little bit more difficult. Tasks which are considered typically trivial on a weekday, whether it’s finding a desirable seat on the train or navigating the streets, become almost impossible tasks on a Saturday while the chances of finding a quiet spot to unwind with a book and perk up with coffee are ought. 

I’m not at a complete loss, however. As it turns out, eavesdropping on those who are forced to sit uncomfortably close to you is much more interesting than any paperback. 

Sadly, it’s that time of year again- The time when I can’t take a single blind step outside without the lingering dread of stepping on something cute, disheveled and covered in downy feathers.

Although I can expect to find one or two baby tits or finches pondering around my garden as they attempt to take their first flight, never would I expect to find a baby mallard of all things tangled in my hedge. Perhaps next year I’ll find another pheasant, or maybe a bald eagle?