As I write this I’m expecting a photographer to turn up any minute. He’s taking a picture of me to be used as a by-line shot for a magazine: I’m starting a new column next month – of which more later.

The snapper rang me yesterday to finalise things. “And do you have a wild place we could get to easily?”

“Yes, there’s a few acres of marsh right out the back, couldn’t be easier.”

A sudden quickening in his voice, I knew that quickening. It’s a photographer with a picture idea. “Do you have waders?”

What an intriguing question. “Yes, indeed, but you’re unlikely to get them on the marsh itself. More likely to get them overflying. Lapwings are regular here, and last winter there was a green sandpiper on the meadow for a fortnight. Too early for oystercatchers, they breed here. In fact you’re more likely to see raptors; there’s a pair of barn owls I’ve been seeing regularly, plus marsh harriers most days, and there’s been a pair of buzzards very active this week.”

The photographer managed to find a pause in this flood of information. “I meant waders that you wear.” There was a small sigh in his voice. A great picture had just died.