Doing some tricky editing on a chapter, a flicker of movement catches my eye outside the window . Usually there is one male blackbird  – shiny yellow beak, all black plumage  – somewhere around in the block of gardens. Today there are six, and they are watchful. Three magpies, glossy with rainwater, are hopping about or perching in the Acacia tree, prospecting for nests or anything else worth robbing or mugging. The resident blackbird watches from a television aerial. One of the intruders chases another male off. Despite the rain, the visiting flock is unable to rest. The magpies chatter; one flies up, right in front of my window. I realise I am watching the soap opera, fascinated.