What a f***ing week

It's all about context. The context is - by some bizarre twist of fate you find yourself deeply entrenched in north-west Hackney, an infamous, almost entirely concrete and asphalt hellhole deep within one of the most sprawling, densely populated cities on the planet.

But wait, all is not not lost. You've developed an obsessional love of local patch birding, and the small (and not infrequently large) mercies it springs upon you, regularly rewarding years of attention and affection in the line of fire.

Spring is here, anything can happen, and somewhere along the line all the hard work paid off - not only do you live within 15 minutes of your local patch (actually three 'sub-patches' - Abney Park Cemetery, Clissold Park and Stoke Newington Reservoirs), you work at the latter, the only decent wetland in the whole stinking borough.

After a blinding raptor-watch in the park a few days ago in the park, the water levels drop at the East Reservoir, thanks to cost-cutting incompetence on the part of the local water provider - glorious, tantalising mud is exposed around its fringes. Much too early for peak wader passage perhaps, but surely something could drop in?

Regular vigils are rewarded with not one but two star-turns - a Redshank and a Little Ringed Plover. (don't laugh, they're much rarer here than Dusky Warblers at Flamborough, and we enjoy them at least as much). And then - a five minute cycle to work