Photograph: PA Images/Alamy
Time rolls on, defying our efforts to slow it down for the enjoyable bits. I tick off the markers of spring’s progress. Far out west, in Ealing, a singing skylark evades detection in the boundless sky, its silver chain of sound offering no clues as to its whereabouts. In “leafy Barnes”, sand martins duck and dive in and out of their nesting burrows. And at Lord’s, the cricket season begins.
There is sun. There is a chill wind. There is a low hum of expectation. Lancashire are 143-2. Nearly everything is in place. All we need is a particular bird. As if summoned by the thought, it enters the scene. Flutter bounce flutter bounce land trot. Two rows in front of us, a member rejoices: “The wagtails are back!”
