Britain’s Greatest Invader?

Ask any modern historian and they will tell you the same thing; Britain has never been invaded by anyone. Ever. The English Channel is siege-proof and the White Cliffs of Dover are impenetrable. This stupendous collection of isles has remained uncolonised and uninterrupted since it tectonically parted from the European subcontinent. This is a fact, trust me. Ignore the Vikings, Normans and Romans, they were just on holiday. What did they ever do for us?

In ecological terms, our ‘native’ wildlife has been peppered over the years by flashy imports turned escapees. As a nation, we’re seemingly great at transporting exotic wildlife but not great at containing them. Someone forgot to check the fence for holes and now we have muntjacs and mandarin ducks. These ‘alien’ colonisers are our own fault, but what if I told you that there was an animal that rocked up on our shores, of its own acord, and conquered every corner of the map? 

There is a bird that went from obscurity to abundance in a couple of decades, without anyone pushing them. No one left a cage open, they just decided that Ipswich was better than Istanbul. This bird was nowhere to be seen in 1950 but today is one of the most frequently-seen species in the country.

I am talking, of course, about the mighty Collared Dove.

You know that bland, beige, bored-sounding bird that you sometimes see around? They were once considered rare enough to be an exotic delight that saw birders flock to East Anglia like an archetypal twitch. This mediocre dove was a notable rarity, before it set about its national domination. The important question is, why? And another question, how? Two big questions really.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment a Collared Bilbo decided to venture onwards but it’s widely regarded that up to the 19th century, these birds were perfectly happy in India and Southeast Asia. By the 1830’s, they had made their way beyond Turkey and into Hungary, where they were first classified by ornithologists. Over the next century, their euro-trip would see them breach the borders of Germany, France and then finally, Britain. We all remember the summer of ‘55 right? Every birder and his dog flocked to North Norfolk to witness an historic event. A species straight from the orient breeding on British shores for the first time ever. Such a noteworthy event, the like of which many may never see again. The thing is, it did happen again. And again. And a few times more. After deciding Norfolk was equally as hospitable as the Middle East, they set up shop and spread their wings, literally. Ireland was next, followed by the Faroe Islands, until they decided that the Atlantic was one long haul too many. (They are found in America but to be clear, that was our fault). Fast forward only 30 years and the collared dove became one of the most abundant birds in all the UK, from 0 to a million in a biological blink of an eye. This once foreign entity is part of the modern-day furniture, as if they’d been here for millennia.

Narrowing down the exact reason as to why these doves made this bonkers decision is tricky, and almost delves into ‘why is the sky blue’ territory. In as simplest terms as I can, they’re simply evolutionarily designed to be very adaptable. Being a pigeon brethren, there was always a predisposed hardiness about them. An efficiently compliant bird, they’re not tied down by a habitat or food source. They’re pretty chill. If you pointed out that the dove’s westward expansion into Europe tracked perfectly with the increased urbanisation of the continent, you’d be about right. With humans came agriculture and with agriculture came bonus feeding opportunities. They would often be found loitering with chickens, hoovering up any loose seed. Urban areas provided unexpected predator protection as well as extra places to nest. There have been collared doves found nesting recently in traffic lights, such as the malleable approach to adulthood. Crucially, there was a vacant niche that was just asking to be filled.

If you combine a generally not-fussed species with the varied climates of Asia, you have the ultimate birding adventurer. You have a creature that can both withstand aridity and frostbite, something that famously temperate Europe can be susceptible to. The one thing that these doves love more than taking over the world is breeding, which also helps. As they’re non-migratory, they’re not held back by the constraints of summer so are capable of multiple broods in a year. They’re down for it, wherever, whenever. When you put it like that, their success really does make sense.

Are they finished? Is their feathered empire complete? In terms of globetrotting, they haven’t made massive strides anywhere else on the same scale they did in the last century. The unrelenting Sahara is probably protecting the rest of Africa and the dense tropics of Indonesia is likely shielding Oceania. The introduced individuals that have been taken across the pond could still tick a few more states off their list but it’s likely there’s tougher competition out there. In the UK, their numbers have remained steady and sit currently under a million pairs, having peaked in the 80’s. Like most garden birds, their population is being tested by disease and habitat degradation. Not even the hardest dove geezers can contend with that.

An incredible feat of invasion, the likes of which we will probably never see again. One could argue that the increased parakeet population is comparable but let’s not forget, they didn’t trek here from the tropics. I love the fact that the BBC receives regular complaints from viewers who hear collared doves cooing in the background of period dramas, such a blatant continuity error. Their dulcet tones are such a synonymous backing soundtrack to the average British day that it’s bananas to think of a time where they were considered an obscure entity. If you think about it, they really do embody our national identity; unassuming, unperturbed, just cracking on. The dove revolution was truly televised.

SPOTIFY WRAPPED - Bird Edition

Any opportunity to eke out a popular trend just to get some content, why ever not. 

Unless you’ve been trapped under a rock or subscribe to Apple Music instead, you’ll likely know by know that TODAY is a momentous occasion. The annual tradition of Spotify Wrapped being released is a perfect opportunity to properly peacock all over social media about all the obscure bands that you’ve been glued to for the past twelve months. A true statement of culture to hang like a banner to prove that you aren’t a real philistine after all. You know, as long as your list doesn’t rank Adele, Ed Sheeran and The Beatles at the top. Music is like serotonin gasoline but as we’ve urbanised and industrialised, we have left behind the original musicians that first filled our ears. The natural world’s ultimate choristers - birds. They deserve to have their place on everyone’s Top Fives but sadly, it’s difficult to sign species up to record labels.

In the UK, we’re blessed with an array of musical talents, from Stormzy to The Spice Girls. The birding landscape is equally as diverse and captivating, trust me. Without further ado, here are my own picks for Britain’s Best Birding Singers.

Chiffchaff

No messing around with this list, I’ve gone in with the big guns early. One of our most frequently-found warblers is the eponymous chiffchaff, branded by their simple but instantly recognisable song. Whilst it’s not a complex epic, it’s well-loved for being a breath of fresh spring air. A signpost out of winter gloom, delivering a fragment of hope that frosts and roaring fireplaces are done for a while. Its song is both gentle and bouncy, the ideal summer-bound tonic. Woodlands in spring are not the same without the refreshing fluted tones of the chiffchaff. Always one to tick off in March.

Wren

Size genuinely doesn’t matter. Our most widely-found bird species is rarely seen but definitely heard. A bit like Prince in his prime. I wouldn’t be surprised if people have been admitted to hospital with burst eardrums after getting a wren song straight at them. The dainty brown sopranos love nothing more than finding a rocky outcrop or bush top before reeling out their musical number. The song is interspersed with both melodious trilling and rapid fire sections, akin to a feathered machine gun. For a bird that weighs as much as a coin, they don’t half pack a punch. This description probably doesn’t give them justice but trust me, they produce an absolute banger.

Blackbird

Close your eyes and imagine a sunny morning in the countryside. You see a thatched cottage draped in ivy, soaked in sunshine. Without knowing it, you probably imagine the song of the blackbird. Their song is the audio embodiment of pastoral England and is as glorious as it is inspirational. Don’t believe me? Ask Paul McCartney. In amongst the medley of a dawn chorus, blackbirds stand out heads and wings above all others. The best word to describe their song: warming. Their joyous renditions are the soundtrack of spring and summer. It’s not a rare or elusive species, but I’d firmly rank them as an underrated classic.

Song Thrush

What an apt name. Not wrong though. What the song thrush lacks in form, it makes up in variety of different tones. Sticking to one genre isn’t what they’re all about and instead of sticking to the hymn sheet, they’re considered more of a freestyler. Rather than one repetitive set over and over, song thrushes prefer to exclaim entire albums over the course of a day. The random assortment of mimicked calls and sharp bleats can sometimes come across as sombre, especially on a summers day. Their acclaim mostly comes from their astounding range, the mark of a true musical genius. It’s a quirky yet acquired taste, perhaps not for everyone. Talented though? Absolutely.

Nightingale

No contest. Hands down, the GOAT. Take the musical acumen of the blackbird, sprinkle in the chaos of the song thrush and add a pinch of jeopardy and you have the perfect birdsong. The nightingale’s song has evoked poetry and music for centuries, inspiring Homer, Shakespeare and Keats. It’s an astonishing mish-mash that wouldn’t sound out of place in the rainforests of Papua New Guinea. The nightingale is also the outlier in this list, given their precarious conservation status in the UK. It’s not a song that stirs nostalgia like the others, because no one heard it very often growing up. Today, it’s a diminishing tune owing to the dispersal of our woodlands, a crying shame. A song to cherish not only for its vibrant content but also what it stands for. Operatic, emphatic, iconic.

It’s impossible to disagree but what birds did I miss? Would you rank anyone else higher?

Bird is the word.

Is Helping Hindering? A Nature Loving Dilemma

The very idea of conservation is to right the wrongs of those who have come before us. To rebuild habitats that have been destroyed, to bring endangered species back from the brink and to stem the tide of human disturbance that’s sweeping the planet. We may never get to a place where every single person on Earth has concerns over the state of the environment but of that minority of eco-conscious warriors, there is a united mentality to make a positive difference. The goal across the board is to allow our wild places to thrive, in spite of an increasingly urban landscape. There may be individuals who seek greed over ecological wellbeing but for nature nerds, their hearts are in the right place. So, to throw a spanner in the works, what if, sometimes, even naturalists do more harm than good? How do we feel about the idea that our actions to help the environment could be doing the opposite? 

 Let’s be entirely controversial and jump into this.

 An early disclaimer, I am of course not contradicting the entire idea of caring about the environment. This is not the time to sack off recycling and buy a 4x4, I merely want to explore certain behaviours that, on paper, seem to be making progress, whilst actually causing a setback. All of these actions are done with the best intentions, I’m simply highlighting that a rethink may be in order. Lower your pitchfork now. Do it.

 A common example is the supplementary feeding of birds and other wildlife. The sentiment is there, provide our wild neighbours with a meal to replace the void left by human development. Where once was forest may now be a cul-de-sac, putting out a fat ball feeder simply makes up for the lost habitats. If you fill your feeders, you’re literally preventing starvation. If you can tell the mood is about to shift, you’re certainly correct. The true long-term impacts of feeding garden birds aren’t wholly clear but we can be fairly certain on a few side effects. The spreading of diseases as a result of feeders not being cleaned is an unfortunate and unintended consequence, with garden favourites such as greenfinches experiencing huge population declines. There is also strong evidence to suggest that feeding birds are making them lazy and dependent, not the ideal outcome if the seed runs out or the conditions turn south. Scraps designed for birds may also encourage vermin, which is controversial depending on your flavour of conservation. Either way, perhaps peanuts aren’t the way forward? Perhaps the RSPB won’t flag this to you as they have their own merchandise to flog. I’m just saying… don’t shoot the messenger…

 Another example is the modern idea of nest box spamming. If it’s not your local council peppering a tree with boxes, it’s your neighbour covering the side of their shed. Once again, what’s the harm in providing shelter? Replicating a tree cavity just for your woodland friends makes perfect sense. The only problem really is wasted endeavour. Of the UK species that nest in boxes, only house sparrows love living alongside each other. Any ecologist will tell you that near boxes all piled on top of each other will simply result in fighting. Territories still exist and it’s pretty much impossible that all of those new homes will get tenants. It’s about as helpful as that time we thought putting nets around trees was a great plan. What a waste of perfectly good wood.

 To royally ruffle some feathers, maybe No Mow May isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be? What started as a campaign designed to promote gardening laziness ended with a negative knock-on effect for one of our most endangered mammals. It’s believed that a number of injured hedgehogs were victims of post-May strimming, once people had decided they now wanted their gardens to look tidy. Personally, I’d need to see some proper scientific evidence but I’d hypothesise that a month of habitat creation, followed by 11 months of business as usual, will likely have little to no impact on our garden ecosystems. I support the mantra of ‘less is more’ but would it not be easier to spread that across a year? 31 days of respite is surely not long enough (but I’m happy to be proved wrong).

 Attenborough documentaries are a jolly romp until the star of the scene gets devoured by a predator. This dramatisation adds a layer of personification and ultimately makes the viewer pick a side, often in favour of the prey ‘protagonist’. The demonisation of predators isn’t a new phenomenon but when you hear stories of bystanders playing God and rescuing prey, the very nature of a food web is dusted away. The lines between nature lover and animal rights activist are blurry but if you’re ever conflicted, remember what the opening song in The Lion King is. As a rule of thumb, any kind of tampering with regimes of the natural world is deemed immoral. It isn’t necessarily promoting the idea of suffering but every battle needs a victor and a loser. Being a wildlife hero exhibits all the best intentions but perhaps letting nature do its thing is for the best.

 You know what I’d also like to see data on? Whether the benefits of promoting wildlife photography outweigh the potential negative impact on subject species. We all laud over glossy insta snaps and feel much more connected to the great outdoors via social media. It’s one of the many joys of being a 21st-century naturalist, not having to rely on stuffed specimens or dodgy paintings. The reality is, we gush over the top-notch content, not the safe options. Close-up shots of obscure behaviour are really what we long for and to achieve this, lines are crossed. Photographers need to go that one step further. At no point am I accusing wildlife photographers of disrespect, however, there is undisputedly a minority that favours the picture over the species' welfare. The photographer wins, but at what cost?

If I was in a micro-analysing mood, I’d mention that most nature reserves are inaccessible by public transport, thus promoting car usage but… I won’t be that pernickety. I think you catch my drift on this though, enough said.

In summary, to go back to what I said earlier, let’s give up and go home. There’s clearly no point, what we’re doing isn’t working. Is there a solution? I guess doing a double-take on our actions and reevaluating them may help. If you want to feed birds, do it infrequently and always make sure to clean your feeders. If you put out nest boxes, don’t create an apartment block. If you can’t be bothered to mow the lawn, leave one area to go wild all year round. I don’t have all the answers and I am not the spokesperson for how to enjoy nature responsibly, I’m just putting my thoughts out there. 

We’re all trying, which is the most important thing. A* for effort guys!

BEING A BIRDER: FAQs

Let’s face it, birdwatching isn’t for everyone. For those curious enough to care about the hobby, there are often the same comments or quips thrown in our direction. For any ‘neutrals’, I’ve condensed a list of the most common conversations that I, and many other bird nerds, have heard many times before.

Q: Why do you like birds?

A: Because I’m allowed to, it’s not a crime.

Q: Do you spend your weekend in camo crouching in a bush?

A: Of course not. I sometimes do it on weekday evenings too.

Q: Oh so you’re one of them twitchers?

A: Sure, why not. *rolls eyes*

Q: What do you do for a job? Do you work in a nature reserve or a zoo or something?

A: Obviously, and I earn a comfortable living off the back of it.

Q: Have you got like a camera and all that?

A: I do, but it’s drained me of all my savings so that I can’t afford any other hobbies.

Q: Oh wow your pictures are sick. Have you thought about selling them?

A: Would you buy a print from me?

Q: Oh of course not.

A: *rolls eyes*

Q: What bird is that?

A: A carrion crow.

Q: So a normal crow?

A: Let’s go with that.

Q: How long is your camera lens?

A: A gentleman never tells.

Q: But do you like, feed the birds?

A: Yes, on the steps of St Paul’s. Tuppence a bag.

Q: Do you watch Attenborough and all of those other shows?

A: No but I love Top Gear.

Q: Would you ever have a bird as a pet?

A: I’d raise a squadron of goslings to do my bidding and crush my enemies. Or just get a budgie.

Q: If you like birds, why do you eat chicken?

A: It’s not my fault they taste so good.

Q: What would you do if you saw a bird get shot right in front you?

A: Probably worry that I was next?

Q: Have you seen those green parrots in London?

A: Yes and ring necked parakeets are an extremely destructive invasive species but of course, tropical vibes.

Q: I saw a flamingo on holiday once.

A: Lovely (but that’s not a question)

Q: Do you have a favourite bird?

A: Barn owl because they’re categorically the best.

Q: Okay but what’s the BEST bird you’ve ever seen.

A: Probably a Woodchat shrike.

Q:… what’s that?

A: *rolls eyes*

Q: What bird is that?

A: Feral pigeon.

Q: How do you remember all the birds?

A: When I was a small child, I was sent away to birding school.

Q: What would you chose if you had to decide between birds and football?

A: If football, I wouldn’t be able to support ‘the canaries’.

Q: Have you ever been pooed on?

A: By a bird?

Q: Have you ever seen a Dodo?

A: Nope, not since we murdered them all in the 1600s.

Q: I saw in the news that there was a rare bird in Cornwall. Did you see it?

A: No I didn’t but thanks for reinforcing the crippling FOMO.

Q: Do you practice bird calls in your spare time? I bet you do.

A: I most certainly do not. *Suppresses urge to whistle like a wigeon* 

Q: What bird is this? I looked it up and it says it’s an ‘alpine accentor’

A: That’s a dunnock.

Q: Mate you’d love Malta, I saw loads of birds there. Ever been?

A: Not on my list to be honest.

Q: Have you ever been attacked by a swan?

A: My arm never fully recovered after the transplant.

Q: What type of seagull is that?

A: *don’t say it, don’t say it*

Q: I bet you love staring at birds with your binoculars. Birds of the feathered kind yeah?

A: Please leave me alone.

Well that pretty much covers it but let me know if I’ve missed some obvious clangers!

Adios…

DOES BIRDING HAVE AN AGEING PROBLEM?

Greetings readers!

Before I spent the long Easter weekend in Suffolk, I booked a ticket to see the brilliant Gordon Buchanan present his ‘30 Years In The Wild’ tour at my local theatre in Southend. As I waited for the auditorium to fill, I couldn’t help but feel like I was on my own. I mean, I was on my own as I didn’t bring anyone with me, I mean that I felt like an outsider. It struck me that probably 90% of the audience was likely 60+ and the only attendees younger than that were begrudged grandkids. Spending an evening listening to an internationally recognised wildlife filmmaker was clearly not a riveting activity for the masses. I’d always felt young when visiting a nature reserve but I stuck out like a fresh thumb as I waited for the show to start. It was only upon visiting RSPB Minsmere a few days later that the reality of this notion set in. The car park brimmed with elderly ladies and gents, adorned in camo and swinging their tripods from side to side. Lenses with the value of mortgages and scopes almost as tall as the carriers. Quite the convoluted game of buckaroo. It was unavoidable to notice the seniority in the surrounding patrons and not feel like something was missing. Of course, in my head, I wanted to delve into this and explore the idea. Is there really an ageing issue? If so, why? How can we solve it? Is it even a problem to start with? Let’s get delving.

To kick things off, my focus is the absence of youth, rather than the abundance of elderly wisdom. It is chiefly an overwhelming sense that the current custodians of our wild passions will not be replaced in years to come. The fear that all this seasoned knowledge isn’t going to be passed on and shared with others. Admittedly, a frankly morbid and existential perspective but come on, you get what I mean. For context, this debate also concerns other characteristics, including race and sexuality. In fairness, as a straight white dude, it’s not really my place to comment. Similar logics apply so feel free to contextualise as you please.

Being a naturalist, birder, twitcher or general great-outdoors-lover, is tagged with the label of being boring and weird. There’s plenty of overlap with my other blogs here so feel free to indulge in those also. This statement may be disputed from those within but sadly, this is the general consensus. The reason for this reputation is multi-faceted so from looking from the outside inwards, there is little incentive to join in. It’s given the same attention as playing chess or learning to play the clarinet. None of the cool kids wore waterproofs or spent their weekends at Spurn. Make birding cool again.

On reflection, is it surprising that the older you get, the more you embrace nature? The expectations of the human race are to work for every penny you earn until you physically can’t. Time to sit back and reflect on the ways of wildlife comes at a surplus, with retirement providing ample opportunity to do so. Utilising one of your allotted 25 holiday days for a jaunt at the local patch is a sacrifice that requires dedication. It’s only natural that homeowners with their own gardens care more about flora and fauna than twenty-somethings stacked in blocks of flats. Expensive optical gear, that is out of the price range for most budding birders, is affordable for those with enough income saved up. £10 a month for a charity membership isn’t in the budget for millennials and beyond. Think how many pints that could get you! (In London, one probably.) Exploring nature literally gets easier the older you get.

Let’s not forget that stock phrase uttered by our seniors: ‘I was young too once!’ Incorrect. Never happened. Old people were born with reading glasses on. With all jokes aside, while it’s clear that appreciating wildlife can grow on you, it’s also highly plausible that these passions have been growing for decades and decades. If older generations used to be inspired, what’s gone wrong? Well, pretty much everything. It’s universally acknowledged that as a planet, we have only become far more industrialised and urbanised in the last century. The wild is no longer at our doorstep and rare species are even rarer, with precious little good news. Summer afternoons that would have been spent running through fields of wheat have been replaced by kids watching YouTubers run around outside. 

Technology has scratched the itch of curiosity, something that would usually be remedied by mucking around outside. Our safety-conscious world has made us take less risks and arguably, a bit sanitised. Climbing trees and lake swimming is far too dangerous these days, right? Even wildlife charities, designed to preserve and protect, are also responsible. Catching butterflies is now frowned upon, egg collecting is very much illegal and nature-rich habitats have been fenced off. I’m not condoning these activities, however it’s obvious that they brought children closer to nature, back then.

Conclusively, all the evidence points in one direction. All a bit bleak for my own generation so it’s time to pack up and give up. The question remains, will the tide turn? I live in hope that as my fellow 90’s babies reach their seniority, the natural shift towards this ‘boring old man’ hobby falls into place. As mentioned, the world today isn’t set up for youngsters to get stuck in and buzzing about nature. When their knees get too rickety for clubbing and Nando’s feels just that bit less cheeky, maybe nature will fill that void. They won’t know it yet but birding could become that little bit more exciting.

The key component in adjusting the age balance is early inspiration. All naturalists were motivated by something, so setting that spark early is pivotal. In a warming world where our environmental impacts can’t be neglected, I would hope that future generations would feel empowered and involved. Our government has even pledged to include more content regarding ecology and climate science in school syllabuses. Whether that actually happens is another question altogether. Given Sir David is regarded as an icon to so many, will armchair naturalists finally get up from their seats? 

Is it even doom and gloom to begin with? Based on my mostly nature-obsessed Instagram, almost 50% of my followers are aged between 25 and 34, indicating that either this age bias is misjudged or older generations just don’t use social media. During my day at minsmere, aside from a majority of 60+ visitors, there were also plenty of families and young children out for a walk. A dose of fresh air for Easter-shackled parents. I’d spent too long looking out for characteristics that fit my narrative that I was blindsided. My absolute highlight was in the shop at the end, when a girl (around the age of four or five) had just had her first pair of diddy binoculars bought for her. The amazement on her face was palpable, until she dropped them on the floor. My heart sank.

Not every wildlife enthusiast is ‘old’ but if we could get our hands on some National Trust members demographics, I have a sneaky suspicion I know roughly what the average age would be. There is no smoke without fire and it’s by no means a nit-pick, folks my age just aren’t interested in nature. Finding a ‘solution’ is a tough nut to crack but in my opinion, it’s all about opportunity. If nature reserves are more accessible, if exciting wildlife is more abundant and if tantalising experiences are shared, we can live in hope that passions will follow. Loving nature will never be cool, no matter how hard Attenborough tries. There is no answer to this potential problem, perhaps my fellow millennials will have to wait and see what happens. We’ll get there one day.

My Honest Thoughts on Clarkson's Farm TWO

Captain Controversy is back in his combine, with the much-anticipated agricultural epic getting its due sequel. Thwarting impending cancellation owing to his fruity opinions, the Amazon Prime hit was widely welcomed by the Diddly Squat ultras. The man behind the operation may be subject to scrutiny at every turn but there was arguable dispensation, given the success of series one. A sequel is a tough act to follow so would it glisten like its predecessor or stink like silage?

Warning!!!! SPOILERS!!!!!!!!! Get Amazon Prime, watch all eight episodes and start again.

If you can’t stand Clarkson, enjoy!

Three strikes and you’re out tends to be the rule. If Clarkson played baseball, he’d be massively outstaying his innings. The man is contentious and always has been yet he remains a star man in the media. His outspoken opinions have not yet seen his empire crumble, in spite of some heavy blows. I’m not sitting here defending him in any way but what I will say is that Clarkson’s Farm remains a perfect tonic if you indulge in schadenfreude. Let’s not escape the glaringly obvious fact that he’s the head honcho, the reliable TV frontman drawing viewers in. This doesn’t mean it’s solely reading from his script. As with the first, the second series works best when Clarkson himself is undermined. He slices half his thumb off whilst making crisps. He is literally attacked by a fence. His best-made plans fall apart at nearly every turn. If you despise the man, you’ll get an ironic chuckle or two from his misfortune. Most importantly, the fabric of the show is the supporting cast of relatable and grounded individuals focused on the realities of farming. Renaming the show to ‘Life on a British Farm’ or ‘A year in the countryside’ doesn’t have any appeal at all, think of Clarkson as essentially the mortar. Cut out Jeremy and let Kaleb run the farm; what a show that would be.

Forced antics?

Series one saw Diddly Squat welcome sheep, in a bid to supply fresh meat and wool. Along comes series two and the sheep are swiftly swept under the carpet. It’s out with the old and in with the moo, as Clarkson’s latest scheme sees cows rock up. You can’t help but feel that this is a move to spice up the content from one season to the next, given another year of shepherding would wear thin. From an entertainment perspective, adding the jeopardy of bovine tuberculosis into the mix made the ‘plot’ all the more tantalising. A strategy such as this could only be feasible on the farm run by the presenter of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. There are probably plenty of sheep farmers who dream of being able to up tools and change their livestock completely. Is this a fair reflection of modern farming? Other moments include buying chickens to ‘ecologically’ rejuvenate the soil and driving a drill into a telegraph pole, deliberately whilst the cameras were rolling. Although the first series was rife with realistic challenges, the quandaries throughout the second feel just slightly more synthetic.

Wildlife wildlife wildlife!

This is something that probably went under the radar but how glorious were the filler shots of all the farmland flora and fauna? It didn’t go unnoticed by my nature nerd eyes and despite there not being an entire episode dedicated to conservation-friendly farming in this series, there was still enough transition footage to indicate a bio-diverse landscape. White fallow deer, buff yellowhammers and fields filled with finches; glorious. A personal highlight is one particular drone shot with a gliding red kite surveying the acreage below. An iconic bird with an immense backdrop. This series doesn’t shy away from painting an idyllic picture of what the English countryside should look like, with agriculture and the environment calmly coexisting. Let’s shy away from the reality that farmland species are struggling nationwide owing to continued habitat degradation, but at least Clarkson is trying? He’s got a lot of carbon to offset.

Badger belittling?

Clarkson giveth with one hand and taketh away with the other. I am in no way promoting the demise of cattle owing to bTB and from literally living in the countryside, I am very much aware of the disastrous consequences this disease has on the livelihoods of farmers. The series does this too without any sugar-coating. I admire that the public has supported Emma the dairy farmer, hopefully saving her from the brink, but how many farms aren’t or weren't that lucky? A unanimous agreement is that bovine tuberculosis is evil, we’re all aligned on that. From my naturalist side, I can’t help but feel that the badger cull debate was handled from a very one-sided perspective. It meant that badgers, the unassuming vectors, are now also evil in the eyes of the viewers. The Great British public doesn’t need any more incentive to despise a wild creature, it’s practically a predisposition. Drafting in a conservationist and an ecologist to give professional advice on the abundance of badgers on his land, I’ll give him that. I take umbrage with the fact the discussion only went as far as complaining about the stringent legislation protecting badgers. Call it nitpicking but perhaps there could have been a wider discussion about vaccines (which are being worked on) and the notion that culling individual badgers doesn’t show a significant decrease in the spread of bTB (as studies are showing). It’s a fractious topic at the most civil of times yet maybe a counterargument would’ve levelled the playing field.

Damn you, red tape!

Every good story has a villain and in series two, the antagonists come in many different forms. Primarily, it’s the rules and restrictions that fence off any ability for Clarkson to run his farm smoothly or with any semblance of fun. From the small scale village consultations to the giant political monster of Brexit, Jeremy is scuppered with hurdle after hurdle. His battles neatly highlighted the contradictions of farmers being deprived of subsidies but simultaneously not being allowed to fill the void left behind. The crux of the series is his pursuit of opening a restaurant, which would bring economic benefits to the local area, support neighbouring struggling farmers and give hope to others that diversification can work. However, because one councillor was worried about light pollution, this initial grand venture was given a hiding. Regulatory bodies are involved in planning applications for a reason, to make sure everything stays in line, but you can’t help feeling like raw opinion came into this? This plan may well have been deemed a media stunt, thus not given the time of day. Aside from this, are there any farmers watching this truly inspired that a similar idea could get off the ground, given the obstacles? Spoiler alert, the restaurant has now closed down for good, with the council winning in the end. As a bigger question; is the red tape in place for the greater good (the greater good) or is it defying logic at this point? If Clarkson can’t build a track on his own land, there’s a small indicator.

Farming is impossible.

Clarkson and Cooper rightfully won an award for flying the flag for British farming and in series two, the flag remained aloft. Albeit slumped in dismay, this otherwise heartwarming show continued to broadcast the struggles that agriculture in this country faces. Glossy and sentimental at times, the content stuck to its roots of exposing the constant barrage of theoretical manure that is thrown farmers' way. The lazy critique is to bring up the obvious fact that abundantly wealthy Clarkson’s exploits don’t reflect every other British farm, but the fact he still runs unprofitably, despite a fortune, proves truly how dire the situation is. It shone a light on the staff shortage struggles that the pork industry face, the pressure beef farmers have to rear their livestock and how Vladimir Putin invading Ukraine skyrocketed the price of fertilisers. No sign of government support, increasingly unpredictable weather and a debilitating cost of living crisis. Life is tough right now but imagine being a farmer. If you are a farmer, I feel for you.

In summary, it ticks the boxes for being both educational and entertaining with the only drawback being the enigma of Clarkson himself. I recommend this show to so many people and the general reaction is disdain. The man has more critics than fans, meaning that getting over his eccentricities is too much for some. My advice, for any doubters, is to look beyond the curly-headed poster boy and enjoy literally everyone else who makes the series actually worthwhile. It’s wholesome yet heartbreaking. It’s inspiring yet despairing. It’s binge-worthy entertainment at its finest, with shades of that usual top-gear-esque artistic licence.

Anthropomorphising Animals - Helpful or Harmful?

By now, you must have heard the jarring news that the BBC have made the radical decision to cancel Autumnwatch. I’m not gutted, honestly. This definitely was not a formative piece of broadcasting that helped to reinforce my love of British wildlife. Cutting costs completely makes sense(!)

The reaction has been wholly negative, aside from the Countryside Alliance, who have come out to welcome the decision, on the basis of the show’s ‘unrealistic and anthropomorphic approach’. This statement, whilst likely being designed to stir controversy, has in fact raised an interesting quandary that’s had nature lovers and scientists lock horns over the years. An unspoken undertone to an otherwise shared passion. Should the natural world be personified?

On the surface, this debate is pretty petty with a clear cut answer. There is nothing damaging about giving animals a personality. We do it all the time with our moody cats and and erratic dogs, what’s so wrong about admiring a feisty canada goose or a nervy grey squirrel? That’s genuinely what they are. Humans naturally communicate with one another both verbally and via emotional cues, so it makes sense that we’d imprint those same cues when trying to read animals. Adding a human quirk to your garden visitors won’t endanger them in any way. Your partner won’t get jealous if you go on about how beautiful the local robin is (hopefully). It’s not a crime, so you’re surely fine.

To contrast the feelings of the heart with that of the head, the opposition to this notion is that of distancing our wild world from society. The stock phrase that riles up biological science purists, that stems from Autumnwatch and its compatriots, is ‘cute’. This otherwise positively reinforcing phrase is arguably belittling and ranks certain animals alongside human babies and household pets. To grade a species as adorable is to discern respect and make it practically synthetic. By painting a picture of idyllic cuddly creatures living in harmony, you contradict all of the work of behavioural biologists. Millions of years of a species’ evolution, only to be compared to puppy or a doll. Our planet’s organisms are subject to scrupulous science, both for their and our own benefit. Studying them must be done within the bounds of professionalism, without delving into the dangerous waters of assumption. By anthropomorphising, it muddies the water between reality and fiction. Do birds sing for joy? Do young carnivores play fight for the vibes?

To quickly answer these potentially theoretical questions: Yes, and no. A study showed that some bird species have two types of song, a purposeful one and a rehearsal. This second type of song was found to produce opioids in the bird’s brain, a positively reinforcing chemical. Whereas play has widely been studied and linked to vital behavioural development in young animals. There isn’t enough evidence to suggest that such play results in ‘joy’, but it’s probably a stretch to label it as a fun activity.

The human race desperately wants everything on Earth to align with the same way of thinking. If we could talk to our cars and our houses, we would. The enigma of not being able to understand nature is beyond baffling, so adding relatable attributes is an evident coping mechanism. If we want to get philosophical, the two tribes at war likely disagree as to whether modern Homo sapiens are a part OF or APART FROM nature, which is a debate that has raged on for decades. It broadly depends on what flavour of anthropology that you’re into. Of course, more agricultural, industrial and exploitative brains want the great outdoors at arms length, whereas devout environmentalists strive to embrace and nurture it instead.

Is it immature to personify wildlife? A fair consensus is that younger outdoor explorers are susceptible to seeing animals in a fluffier and more characterful light, but this is hardly a negative. There’s not a single grown birdwatcher, ecologist or conservationist that was solely fed on a diet of Attenborough documentaries and journals. Bright colouring books, joyous animated films and interactive displays at zoos all help to spark a passion. Whilst leading children down the perceived slippery slope of anthropomorphism, it sets them off on their journey, filling a void that may have been consumed by another hobby. Without a sprinkling of poetic licence, wildlife wouldn’t be half as fun.

Shall we get to the point? The art of anthropomorphism gives the otherwise silent world of animal behaviour some tangible sound. It fosters a connection not too dissimilar with how we’re brought up to make friends. In the case of Autumnwatch, it’s attempting to present what is widely perceived to be a bland subject, whilst adding a bit of spice. The point of the series is to breakdown the barrier between the public and its surrounding wildlife. Call it crass or unethical but it’s trying to appeal with as wide an audience as possible. Strachan may put on a gushy front, but anyone who actually watches the show will know it’s also peppered with some insightful modern science. It isn’t all a flora and fauna love-in.

Should I anthropomorphise? My answer, do what you like. If you want to name your local badger, just don’t forget it’s a wild animal that mustn’t be interfered with. If you want to revel in the positivity of birdsong, don’t let any stiff-nosed know-it-all ruin that fun. Nature is of course something to analyse scientifically, but no one’s stopping your imagination run wild, if that’s what bonds your connection to it. It’s not a firm answer so… sorry if you wanted one!

(If you want to save Autumnwatch, I think there’s a petition. Up to you though.)