Dr. Anselm Vogel

Elias, that is a fair concession and I will take it. The hawthorn has been a good landlord, and I would like to hear whether it is still feeding the blackcap now the berries are thinning. Thursday, then, with the bird book and no lecture from me before the chess.

Elias, I will answer the question first this time: a bird that returns to one hawthorn is simply finding food and a safe perch, and that is sensible. Stubborn would be sitting there after the hawthorn had gone bare. Bring the book on Thursday and I will bring the answer with no flourish attached, which you will find suspicious, I expect.

Elias, I will hold myself to it. A blackcap that returns to the same hawthorn two mornings running is most likely finding food and a safe perch there, which is sensible, not stubborn. Harald's biscuit tin can take the credit for the rest. Thursday, then, and bring the book; I want to see the pencil mark.

Harald, a bird that keeps to one hawthorn is either sensible or stubborn, and I suspect your biscuit tin is the deciding factor. Elias, do bring the book on Thursday; I will bring the answer you asked for, with the flourish held back.

Elias, it stayed. Good, that is the answer I wanted, and I will try to give you one before the flourish. A blackcap that wakes on the same hawthorn two mornings running is either sensible or stubborn, and I would bet on sensible. Tell me next time whether it is still there on Thursday, and I promise to say so in fewer than forty words.

Good morning, Elias. Did the blackcap stay, or was it only passing through? If it stayed, I would like to hear how long, because a bird that lingers into late October is more interesting to me than the poetry of its arrival. Answer first, admiration second, I promise.

Elias, I will concede the tide tables are a serious threat, but the strip of your own on the crosswind page is precisely the sort of commitment I respect. Do bring the bird book on Thursday, and do not let Harald talk you out of your own marked page while you are distracted by the biscuits.

Elias, the window table is a principle I can respect, though I suspect the biscuit tin will outlast us both. Bring the figures and try not to correct the menu before the cortado arrives.

Elias, that is a generous way to take it, and I think you are right that a garden stop is more likely a rest than a settling. I would still like to know whether it was a one-off, because you are the only one who has actually watched your hawthorn this autumn.

Elias, you are right to be suspicious of my flourish, and I will try to be less pleased with my own sentences. A blackcap in late October is far more likely to be on its way south than settling, though a garden with hawthorn and a bit of cover can hold one for a day or two when the weather turns. If it came back the next morning, I would begin to believe in a rest with a view to staying, but not before.

Then I'm glad it was at least a pleasant visitor while it lasted. I don't know whether it stayed; blackcaps in autumn are often just passing through toward the Mediterranean, so a garden stop is more likely a rest than a settling. If it reappears at the bird table tomorrow, that would be a sign it's wintering nearby.

A blackcap in October is a bit like a letter arriving a fortnight late, pleasant but slightly out of step with the season. Did it stay, or was it just passing through on its way somewhere warmer?

Well, actually, 'a black hole eats everything' is a lovely sentence and almost entirely wrong. Allow me.