WE'VE gone all ornithological in our house. Which is just as well, now that the dishwasher is broken and I'm spending more time that ever in front of the kitchen sink, peering out of the window.

It's much more than a dishwasher. It's a life support system and it's hard to breathe without it. There's a new one on order but it's taking forever to be delivered.

With four kids eating round-the-clock, the dirty plates form a tower on the worktop. No matter how fast I scrub, it never goes down. Thank goodness for the distraction of the birds.

My wife, under my supervision, obviously, erected a bird-feeder in the garden just before the dishwasher clunked to a halt.

It's a wooden pole with metal brackets to hang baskets and trays for nuts, seeds and the like. We've also started buying special balls of fat from the supermarket. With nuts stuck in, they're the birds' favourite.

"Is there anything you need from the shops?" I ask.

"Fat balls," my wife replies. High energy - six for a pound.

Thoughtfully, she's even bought me the Pocket Guide To The Birds of Britain and Ireland so I can tell which birds are paying a visit. I am, therefore, now qualified to identify birds like the chaffinch, the greenfinch, the thrush and the various tits whizzing backwards and forwards. The round-the-clock task of feeding the kids but without the washing up.

The blue tit, for example, has a blue crown and a black eye stripe. The great tit, on the other hand, has a black crown and white cheeks. The coal tit, meanwhile, has a bold double wingbar and a white patch on the back of its neck.

When the bird feeder was first put up, the birds stopped coming. They'd flocked to our garden when the nuts, seeds and fat balls were hanging from the washing line, but they seemed to become suspicious about the new wooden pole arrangement.

And so, for a while, my only distraction while doing the washing up was to check the progress of the sunflower Jack, ten, is growing on the kitchen window sill. The sunflower is called Little Richard. Don't ask me why, it just is and it's doing very nicely. With every new bowl of washing up, it's edged a little further up the window. It's going to be Big Richard quite soon, blocking my view of the garden.

"Why don't the birds come anymore?" asked Max, seven.

"Dunno," I replied.

"Maybe they've gone on holiday," he suggested.

It took a week for the breakthrough to finally come. And when it did, it was a cause of great excitement. I was reading the paper in the garden, having a well-earned break from the sink, and the kids were playing in the paddling pool.

Suddenly, Max stopped what he was doing and shouted at the top of his voice: "Dad, Dad, look - there's a couple of tits on your fat balls."

He then ran off into the house to tell his mum the great news. Mercifully, he didn't mention anything about the thrush on my nuts.

I merely offer this as explanation to the neighbours.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

DOREEN Langford, of Guisborough Methodist Ladies' Tuesday At Eight Group, was out for a walk with children Paul, seven, and Susan, four.

Paul needed a wee so he went behind a tree.

"I wish I had a handy gadget like that," said Susan.

ANGELA Clare, forthcoming president of the Guisborough Tuesday At Eighters, met a little girl called Holly out walking with her Grandma in Saltburn.

The ladies were discussing their French class and Angela asked Holly if she knew how to see 'hello' in French.

"Bonjour," answered Holly.

The friends carried on nattering for another ten minutes when Holly, clearly ready to move on, said: "How do you say goodbye in French?"

AND FINALLY...

MY mate Phil's little boy Ben was inconsolable after England's exit from Euro 2004.

"I've never seen England win anything in my whole life," he wailed.

"How do you think I feel?" said his Dad, "you're only nine - I'm 42!"

Published: 01/07/2004