Life can be tough......

Isn’t it strange how a trip to Northfleet always delivers the same result.

Despite having lived in Wales for nearly 16 years, the feeling that we should return ‘home’, has always been just 'below the surface'.

So it was with thoughts turning to a ‘return flight’, that I headed east last Saturday.

Ebbsfleet International car park, no more than a five minute walk from the Stonebridge Road ground, was both convenient and depressing.

The trackside sign showing ‘100’, a stark reminder for anyone heading to Europe, that they would only have to shut their eyes for a couple of minutes, to avoid the barren townscape of Northfleet.

And I have no doubt that the twin chimneys towering over the Ebbsfleet ground would have raised the heartbeat of Fred Dibner, but for me they were no more than an affirmation of the misery of the place.

Yes, Northfleet had indeed delivered the same result…..a vivid reminder of why we had left London and the south east far behind in the first place.

When we moved to Wales in 1992 our first home was set in orchards and woodland, high up above the Wye Valley. Nesting buzzards, garden birds of many species, badgers, foxes, dormice, deer……and from early in each new year the garden was an Impressionists dream…..a wall-to-wall carpet of wild flowers.

And just about the first thing we did after moving in was to put up a nesting box. Looking back it was a pretty pointless thing to do, given that the high canopy of the broadleaf woodland was home to nesting buzzards. But then what did we know about nature, coming from the land of ‘gridlock’….the M3/M25.

But my son was genuinely excited , when in our first year the nesting box was taken over by a pair of Blue Tits.

And by the end of May, after weeks of frantic feeding the incredible efforts of two hardworking parents paid off. Ten healthy youngsters took to the wing for the first time.

The morning had started, I guess, pretty early with the ‘dad’ bringing a mealworm to the entrance. ‘Mum’ disappeared inside the nest to undertake her usual bout of housekeeping at the bottom of the box. And this was then followed by visit after visit with food. The chicks gathered around the entrance and most feeds took place without the adults entering the box.

As the moment of flight approached, the anticipation in the nesting box was overwhelming, and any chick perching in the opening for more than a few seconds was brushed to one side by the excitement of the others.

Then the moment came. A call of the parents from a nearby coppice of hazel could be heard outside, the bustling and jostling in the box seemed to stop, as one by one they made their departure.

The innocence of youth overtaken by the frantic first flight……only 20m, but so dangerous.

Disaster struck…..the first five chicks were taken out by a predatory Jay, who like us had been watching the ‘departure lounge’.

The parents' call so much more plaintive……but the last five survived the early test and quickly grew to understand that controlled flapping of the wings was of primary importance…..that an awareness of danger was probably something good to comprehend….a plan to overcome danger was a useful survival tool….and having a good sense of direction would always get them home after a late night!

On Saturday Aldershot Town left the safety of the Changing Rooms and immediately forgot to flap their wings….and, as for the rest?

Well I guess Gary and Martin will take time to remind their fledgelings that life can be tough.