I am sorry to say that we now have a rookery in the big beeches down by the track. There were a few nests last year, now there are lots. They are far more obviously dinosaurian than the finches and tits I feed: listening to their harsh conversation, it’s easy to think there might be a gang of pterosaurs up there. They make a great deal of conversation. Miss Kit doesn’t like them much, though there doesn’t seem to be any mutual aggression. As far as vegetation is concerned, the snowdrops are still in full flush and so are the crocuses, but the scillas have started to appear, so the year is moving along — it’ll be some time yet before I know what in my garden survived the winter and what didn’t. My big ornamental rhubarb, I’m happy to say, did — |I though it mightn’t because the main bulk of the thing seems to sit on the surface rather than being safely underground where it’s warmer, but there is a flash of crimson in the wrinkled black lump in the middle of the bed. Monkshoods are coming up. I think I’ve lost about half my roses, but time will tell. One piece of good news: the Professor appeared to tell me that there are several pairs of old trousers he can get into again.