A welcome migrant who prefers Somerset to south-east Asia

The warbling of robins and the trilling of wrens, a singing song thrush, the high-pitched roundel of a goldcrest, and a chiffchaff calling out its name, could only mean one thing: spring had finally come to this little corner of the West Country.

Yet despite the birdsong, the blue sky and the delicate breeze, this was not mid-March, but the end of December. So although hearing birds sing is always cheering, today's chorus came with a health warning: that this winter's topsy-turvy weather may be an early sign of climate chaos to come.