A birthday, a bird and the brilliant Doctor Who.

It's my little sister's birthday today! She's not actually here, she's currently causing havoc on the canals of England. But Happy Birthday to Baby Hands anyway (she does have freakishly small hands). When I was younger I used to hate this part of the year, between her birthday and my own, because it looked as though there was only one year between us. Something to do with the older sibling equating age with importance I think. But I'm obviously getting on a bit because this time round I'm quite happy with the idea that I'm only a little older!

We've got a bird trapped in our chimney. There's no way of getting it out and it's understandably kicking up a hell of a fuss. Poor thing. And poor me. It's not nice to hear the sad little creature desperately trying to escape.

Hands up, who watched Doctor Who on Saturday night? *Giraffe-a-licious waves frantically* Wasn't it great? I have to say that I was rather disappointed with the Christmas special so it was a relief to see the show back on tip top form. Catherine Tate is an excellent addition to the cast. I can't say that I'm a fan of her comedy but she's landed herself a great character here and is making the most of it. It also means that the dynamic between the Doctor and his assistant has changed and as a result the show feels a lot fresher than for most of the last series. I suppose I should add a few words on the subject of David Tennant. How does charismatic, handsome and hilarious sound? Sigh.

Calzaghe, my car and one very cold Giraffe-a-licious.

Well darn my socks and call me Graham! The British public got it right for once. Joe Calzaghe victorious as BBC Sports Personality of the Year. Great a Lewis Hamilton fan as I am, it was a spot on decision for him to come second to Calzaghe. What's next I ask you? A deserving winner for Strictly Come Dancing in a couple of weeks? Perish the thought. I tell you, if that Eastenders kid wins I'm going to have some serious words to say on the subject.

Good grief it was cold today. All three (yes, three, count them) of our bird baths in the back garden were frozen over. Not that the birds were bothered. They were all in hiding, save one hardy blackbird. They made the right decision in staying out of sight today and not just because of the cold. Having got my car out of the garage this morning I noticed a delightful bit of bird graffiti. Sadly they don't have access to multi-coloured spray paints and so use what is readily available to them. I did contemplate giving the Tate Modern a call purporting to be an artist with a groundbreaking piece of work for them, but ultimately I decided that I didn't want to part with my beloved Skoda. I went at the bonnet with a sponge, scrubbing brush and ready supply of hot water. Honestly, someone should be selling this stuff as glue. I was an exhausted shell of a Giraffe-a-licous by the time I'd finished. We're a bird loving family in this house, but if I ever catch the varmint that made its own personal mark on my little Fabia I can't be held responsible for my actions.

WANTED: Wood Pigeon

I'm being haunted by a dead pigeon. I kid ye not. A recently deceased pigeon is stalking my dreams.

A couple of days ago I was quietly minding my own business when a huge thud of a noise reached my ears. On entering the kitchen I observed the unmistakable splatted shape of a pigeon against the window. There's not anything particularly unusual about that to be honest. Wood pigeons are the dumbest of the dumb and have an unnerving habit of flying head long into our windows. They usually wander around afterwards looking a little dazed and then head off on their merry way unhurt. Not this pigeon. He really must have been flying at quite a speed. He was sat a foot or so away from the window looking totally out of it. Being the kind, bird-loving, daughter of an RSPB employee, I thought I'd better take a closer look to see if he was hurt and if there was anything I could do about it. Things were looking pretty good to start with. As I approached the stunned, winged creature it jumped up and ran off down the garden. "Hurrah," I thought, " 'tis unharmed." I followed it with the intention of grabbing some seed from the feeders and taking it to the needy bird. I did so and scattered some of the feed around my new feathered acquaintance. Unfortunately the pigeon seemed not to share my feelings of friendship and promptly attempted to fly away. Attempted being the operative word. The darn thing couldn't fly. It must have hurt its wing in the crash and no matter how many times it endeavoured to hurl itself out of the garden, it couldn't make it. So I elected to leave him to it. At least without me around it wouldn't feel the need to make a forlorn break for freedom every other second.

A couple of hours later, mum got home and I related to her the tale of woe. She went out to the garden to see how P.I. Geon was getting on and couldn't find him! The garden was eerily quiet and there was not a pigeon to be found. We therefore came to the happy conclusion that it must have been a temporary wing related injury. The good old bird must have found himself a bit of that magic spray that physios use on rugby players, and upped and flown away. Woohoo!

Woohoo indeed. Except that for the last couple of nights the blinkin' bird has found its way into my dreams. It rebukes me for not helping it. I am to blame for its demise. It has conveniently forgotten the stupidity that led it to slam into a window in the first place. I can hear it pecking at my window. It's threatening to attack my arm and leave me for dead. So I call upon you, my dear blog readers, to help me in the tracking down of this ungrateful animal. Once found it shall be made to listen to and accept my side of the story and cease forthwith its hate campaign against me. If not, it shall face the consequences. I'm getting plans drawn up for a fully glass residence as I write.

An artist's impression of the guilty party