Wildlife in North London

J woke up ridiculously early and went off to watch sport in the sitting room, whilst I stayed in bed reading, only to get a shock when a big black shape swooped right past the window. It was a heron, flying very low through our back garden. It beat its wings and wheeled over the garage and flew away down the street, trailing its legs behind it.

Two nights ago, walking back in the rain from a late night run to the Turkish greengrocers for milk, I saw not the usual small ginger fox but three drenched-to-dark-red foxes, strolling down the road together. They saw me, turned round to look, flicked their ears, then walked on, unconcerned, although they sped up when I followed them and melted away into the shadows under parked cars. When I weed the front garden, I usually find a collection of bones, carefully buried. Chicken bones, lamb bones, stolen from bins.

And as I write this, a jay is staring at me. Sitting on the fence, looking at me through the window. It's very windy today, with snow flurries. The sparrows are hunkered down in the ivy on the garage roof, chattering noisily. The grey squirrel who Miff is respectful of since a stand-off on the wall a year ago - is nowhere to be seen. Miff cries to go out into the garden - and then runs in again, looking cross and ruffled; she doesn't like the cold wind blowing up her tail.

I like sharing the city with so many birds and animals. There is a whole secret life going on that we don't always see as we rush about our daily business.