Country diary: A featherweight bout that doesn’t even bend the branches

To Crystal Palace park, one of south London’s finest. Sun on my back, birdsong in my ears. Spring is in the air, demanding attention. “See me, hear me. Smell me!”

There have been ducks. There have been geese. There has been a heron, loitering with intent to kill. There is nothing more still than a heron. Statues go to them for advice.

At the edge of the small wood, I hear a sound to make the head snap up. Tsee-tsee-tsee-tsee-tsee-tsee-TSEE. Fast, high, rising slightly. A firecrest.

Superb bird, the firecrest. Tiny, pugnacious, hyperactive. More common than they used to be, but still, for me, a “Dear diary, you’ll never guess what I saw” bird. The sound comes again. I trace it, follow it. And now I’m in the midst of a brouhaha. Because the firecrest has competition. A goldcrest, matching its rival in tininess and pugnacity. They face off against each other in a sycamore just above my head, so close I could reach out and grab them, but so caught up in their indignation that they seem unaware of my presence.

It’s not clear who is encroaching on whom, but their mutual antipathy crackles in the air. They circle each other, bristling. It’s a territorial dispute as old as time – common enough in nesting season. But for all the ferocity on show – the energy they emit could fuel the grid for a week – this is a playground fight. Shouting, posturing, theatrical arm-waving, but no physical contact of any kind. Scaled up, it would be terrifying, but this clash of tiny rage-bundles plays out like a puppet show, a furious stream of cheeps and skwees, staccato wing flaps, flaring of amber crests.

They’re cousins, these two species. And you know how it is with family. More in common than divides them. I want to tell them it’s not worth it. Just compromise on the disputed territory, settle your differences, go for a pint. You’ll thank me in the long run.

I don’t get the chance. Flying over my head, they take their mutual grievance into the trees opposite and then deeper into the wood, leaving a strange and uneasy peace behind them.

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