Dear Richard Madeley: ‘My husband’s birdwatching addiction has really started ruffling my feathers’

Dear Richard 

My husband is a keen birdwatcher, and we have usually managed to go on holiday somewhere that gives him a chance to indulge his hobby, and me to relax with a book by the pool or on the beach.

As 2020 was the year of the staycation, we stayed in Devon, walking the coastal path and eating hearty pub food. It should have been lovely.

However, the reality of constantly stopping and starting, being shushed whenever an interesting specimen came into view and submitting to long explanations about markings and migratory habits has left my patience frayed.

Given there’s a distinct possibility that we shall be similarly homebound next year, where should a couple like us go to keep our marriage intact?

–Kate, via email

Dear Kate

Tricky one, this. Short of recommending a potholing holiday (although your husband would probably end up bat-spotting) I can’t think of anywhere in Britain where he won’t find birds to watch. Our feathered friends are everywhere – seaside, forest, mountain, moorland, meadow, city.

So it’s not really about the location. It’s what you both do once you’re there. And your Devon experience this summer proves beyond doubt that walks together simply aren’t going to work. You’ll almost certainly go mad if you have to go through that stop-start, shushing, birdsplaining routine again. So don’t.

Let’s say you stay in Devon again next summer. Push him off on a solo walk after breakfast, while you spend the morning doing your own thing – reading, visiting a local beauty spot or beach, checking out the local spa – and arrange to meet up in a country pub for lunch.

You might have to put up with him telling you how many housemartins or buzzards or waders he spotted, but it’ll only be for an hour or so. Then you can go back to your hotel or holiday let for a nice post-prandial nap while he walks back and wears out his binoculars.

Basically, Kate, abjure holiday walkies with hubby. That’s what went wrong this summer. Oh, and impose an iron rule: no bird-talk at the dinner table in the evenings. If he’s that desperate to share an account of the day’s sightings, tell him to post it on Twitter.

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