As a male house sparrow flies from the hedge a small moth flutters in the other direction. The sparrow diverts to catch it, hovers, and there's an audible 'snap!'
'You weren't quick enough!' I say, as the moth takes evasive action and disappears into the foliage.
A few moments later the sparrow reappears from the hedge and settles on the back of the garden bench. He stays there, tilting his head a little. I've got time to focus my binoculars on him (we're sitting out after an evening meal on the patio): so - he caught that moth after all! He flies off: it's almost as if he wanted to make sure I saw it!
The sparrows like the shed's roofing felt with it's thin coating of sparkling crystals (mica?). They rub their beaks on it like a pet budgerigar sharpening its beak on the sandpaper on the floor of its cage.
The end of the ridge of the shed roof is a favourite song post for male sparrows - but I should explaing that their song is a series of chirps. What they lack in skill they make up for in enthusiasm as songsters.